Evangeline: The True Story of Eragon
by Aaron Ledgers
Summary: You all know the tale of 'Eragon' and Saphira, but what if a very important detail had been left out? What if 'Eragon' had altered the scriptures of 'his' history to fit a specific purpose? What if 'Eragon' hadn't been a boy, but a cross-dresser named Evangeline? This is the true legend: relive the Inheritance Cycle through the eyes of a frightened girl who had to grow up too fast.
1. Prologue: Shade of Fear

**Prologue: Shade of Fear**

_Wind howled through the darkness of the night, carrying a scent that would change the world forever. A tall Shade lifted his head and sniffed the air. He almost looked human, except for his crimson hair and maroon eyes. He blinked in surprise. The message had been correct: they were here… or was it a counter trap?_

_He weighed the odds._

_"Spread out," the Shade said icily. "Hide behind trees and bushes: stop whoever is coming… or die."_

_Around him shuffled twelve Urgals with crude short swords and round iron shields painted with black symbols. They resembled men with bowed legs and thick, brutish arms made for crushing. A pair of twisted horns grew above their small ears. The monsters hurried into the brush, grunting as they hid. Soon the rustling quieted and the forest was silent again._

_The Shade peered around a thick tree and looked up the trail. It was too dark for any human to see, but for him the faint moonlight was like sunshine streaming between the trees; every detail was clear and sharp to his searching gaze. He remained unnaturally quiet, a long pale sword in his hand. A wire-thin scratch curved down the blade. The weapon was thin enough to slip between a pair of ribs, yet stout enough to hack through the hardest armor._  
_The Urgals could not see as well as the shade; they groped like blind beggars, fumbling with their weapons. An owl screeched, cutting through the silence. No one relaxed until the bird had flown past. Then the monsters shivered in the cold night; one snapped a twig with his heavy boot._

_The Shade hissed in anger, and the Urgals shrank back, motionless. He suppressed his distaste—they smelled like fetid meat—and turned away. They were tools, nothing more. The Shade forced back his impatience as the minutes became hours. The scent must have wafted far ahead of its owners. He did not let the Urgals get up or warm themselves. He denied himself those luxuries, too, and stayed behind the tree, watching the trail._

_Another gust of wind rushed through the forest: the smell was stronger this time._

_Excited, he lifted a thin lip in a snarl._

_"Get ready," he whispered, his whole body vibrating. It had taken many plots and much pain to bring himself to this moment. It would not do to lose control now. Eyes brightened under the Urgals' thick brows, and the creature gripped their weapons tighter. Ahead of them, the Shade heard a chink as something hard struck a loose stone. Faint smudges emerged from the darkness and advanced down the trail. Three white horses carrying their elegant riders cantered toward the ambush, their heads held high and proud._

_On the first horse was a beautiful elf with pointed ears, full red lips, and raven black hair. Her build was slim but strong, like a rapier. A powerful bow was slung across her back, and a sword pressed against her side—opposite a quiver of arrows fletched with swan feathers. The last rider had the same fair face and angled features as the woman, though he was obviously a male. He carried a long spear in his right hand and a white dagger gleamed at his belt. A helm of extraordinary craftsmanship, wrought with amber and gold, rested on his head. Between these two rode a raven-haired elven warrior, who surveyed his surroundings with obvious command and regal bearing. Framed by short, wavy black locks, his deep golden eyes glinted with a driving force. His clothes were unadorned, yet his striking attractiveness was undiminished. At his side was a sword, and on his back a long bow with a quiver. He held in his lap a pouch that he frequently looked at, as if to reassure himself that it was still there. One of the elves spoke quietly, but the Shade could not hear what was said._

_The warrior answered with apparent authority, and his guards switched places._

_The one wearing the helm took the lead, shifting his spear to a readier grip. They passed the Shade's hiding place and the first few Urgals without suspicion. The Shade was already savoring his victory when the wind changed direction and swept toward the elves, heavy with the Urgals' stench. The horses snorted with alarm and tossed their heads. The riders stiffened, eyes flashing from side to side, then wheeled their mounts and galloped away. The warrior's horse surged forward, leaving his guards far behind. Forsaking their hiding, the Urgals stood and released a stream of black arrows._

_"Now!" the Shade shouted; he jumped out from behind the tree, raised his right hand, and shouted, "Garjzla!"_

_A red bolt of energy flashed from his hand toward the elven warrior, illuminating the trees with a bloody light. It struck his steed, and the horse toppled with a high-pitched squeal, plowing into the ground chest-first. He leapt off the animal with inhuman speed, landed with a roll, and glanced back for his guards. The Urgals' deadly arrows quickly brought down the two elves. They fell from the noble horses and their blood began to pool in the dirt._

_"After him!" the Shade screeched when the Urgals rushed to the slain elves. "After him! He is the one I want!"_

_The monsters grunted and rushed down the trail. A howl of rage tore from the elf's lips as his eyes fell upon his dead companions. He took a step toward them, then cursed his enemies and bounded into the forest. While the Urgals crashed through the trees, the Shade climbed a piece of granite that jutted above them. He raised his hand._

_"Istalrí boetk!" and a quarter-mile section of the forest exploded into flames. Grimly he burned one section after another until there was a ring of fire, a half-league across, around the ambush site. The flames looked like a molten crown resting on the forest. Satisfied, he watched the ring carefully, in case it should falter. The band of fire thickened, contracting the area the Urgals had to search. Suddenly, the Shade heard shouts and a coarse scream. Through the trees, he saw three of his charges fall in a pile, dead. He caught a glimpse of the muscular elf running from the remaining Urgals._

_He was fleeing toward the craggy piece of granite at a tremendous speed._

_The Shade examined the ground twenty feet below, then jumped and laded nimbly in front of him. He skidded around and sped back up the trail. Black Urgal blood dripped from his sword, staining the pouch in his hand. The horned monsters came out of the forest and hemmed him in, blocking the only escape routs. His eyes flashed from side to side as he tried to find a way out. Seeing none, he drew himself up with regal fury. The Shade approached him with a raised hand, allowing himself to enjoy the hardened warrior's helplessness._

_"Get him," the shade sneered; as the Urgals surged forward, the elf pulled open the pouch, reached into it, and then let it drop to the ground. In his hands was a large silver stone that reflected the angry light of the fires. He raised it over his head, lips forming frantic words. Desperate, the Shade barked, "Garjzla!"_

_A ball of red flame sprang from his hand and flew toward the elf, faster than a lightning arrow. He was a second too late. A flash of emerald light briefly illuminated the forest, and the stone vanished. Then the red fire smashed into him, and the elf collapsed. The Shade howled in rage and stalked forward, flinging his sword at a tree. It passed halfway through the trunk, where it stuck, quivering. He shot nine bolts of energy with his palm—which killed the Urgals instantly—then ripped his sword free and strode to the elf. Prophecies of revenge, spoken in a language only he knew, rolled from his tongue. He clenched his thin hands and glared at the sky. The cold stars stared back, cold otherworldly watchers. Disgust curled his lip before he turned back to the unconscious elf. He confirmed that the stone was gone, and then retrieved his horse from its hiding place._

_After tying the elf onto the saddle, he mounted the charger and made his way out of the woods._

_He quenched the fires in his path, but left the rest to burn._


	2. Chapter 1: Discovery

**Chapter One: Discovery**

Evangeline Alexandria knelt in a bed of trampled reed grass and scanned the tracks with a practiced eye.

The prints told her that the deer had been in the meadow only a half-hour before. Soon they would bed down. Her target, a small doe with a pronounced limp in her left forefoot, was surprisingly still with the herd. She was amazed that the doe had traveled so far without a wolf or a bear catching her. The sky was clear and dark, and a slight breeze stirred the air: a silvery cloud drifted over the mountains that surrounded her, its edges glowing with light cast from the harvest moon cradled between the peaks. Streams flowed down the mountains from stolid glaciers and glistening snow-packs. A brooding mist crept along the valley's floor, almost thick enough to obscure her small feet.

Evangeline was fifteen years old—less than two years away from womanhood—and she was already known for her striking beauty in her village. She had thigh-length chestnut brown hair that gleamed with reddish-gold sun-streaks, and—although she was mostly unaware of it—her lips were soft and full, her high-boned cheeks were rosy on ivory-colored skin, and her natural blush went very well with her extremely pale complexion.

However, it was not those traits that drew the attention of those around her; it was her _eyes_ that pulled people in. They were long-lashed and positively sparkled with intelligence, a burning love for the world around her, and just a hint of childish mischief that made people smile. Her irises were normally a simple honey brown, but when she became angry they shifted in hue to such a vibrant electric blue that it sometimes made people stare at her. When she was feeling depressed or unhappy, they would flicker to a startling midnight blue; whenever she was feeling lonely or wistful they shifted to an extremely light sliver color, and when she was simply feeling happy, they became a glittering, multicolored turquoise color that had startling gold flecks around the pupil. It looked like stars being reflected in smooth a tropical ocean on a clear summer night. When she was feeling frightened, they flared to a neon green, and finally, whenever she felt mellow or calm, they reverted to their simple honey brown.

People who met her _immediately_ noticed that her eyes were extremely soulful: she didn't need to speak a single word to express her feelings.

Unknown to her, the girl's ever-changing eyes revealed her heart.

She wasn't even aware that her eyes were anything _but_ brown, for that matter.

Evangeline's clothes, on the other hand, were old and very well worn from work and hunting. On top of that, she very seldomly wore women's clothes and preferred to forgo them for men's clothes: the reason being that they were easy to put on, easy to move around in, and extremely comfortable. In her own opinion, the common women's dress had purposely been invented by men to make it harder for their wives to move around. A hunting knife with a bone handle was sheathed at her belt, and a buckskin tube protected her yew-bow from the mist.

She carried a wood-frame pack on her slender shoulders.

The deer had led her deep into the Spine, a range of untamed mountains that extended up and down the land of Alagaësia. Strange tales and men often came from those mountains, usually boding ill. Despite that fact, Evangeline was not afraid of the Spine—she was the only hunter near Carvahall, male or female, who dared track game into its craggy recesses. It was the third night of the hunt, and her food was half gone. If she did not fell the doe, she would be forced to return home empty-handed: her family needed the meat for the rapidly approaching winter and could not afford to buy it in Carvahall.

Evangeline stood quietly in the dusky moonlight, glossy braid swaying slightly as stray wisps of the long brown hair framing her face played in the light breeze. Then, taking a deep breath, she strode into the forest toward a glen where she was sure the deer would rest. The trees blocked the sky from view and cast feathery shadows on the ground. She occasionally looked at the tracks, but she knew the way. At the glen, she strung her bow with a sure touch; then she drew three arrows and nocked one, holding the others in her left hand. The moonlight revealed twenty or so motionless lumps where the deer lay in the grass. The doe she wanted was at the edge of the herd, her left foreleg stretched out awkwardly. Evangeline slowly crept closer, keeping the bow ready; all of her work for the past three days had led to this moment.

She took a steadying breath, sighted down the shaft, and—

An explosion shattered the night.

The herd bolted.

Evangeline lunged forward, racing through the grass as a fiery wind surged past her cheek. She slid to a stop and loosed an arrow at the bounding doe. It missed by a finger's breadth and hissed into darkness. She clenched her teeth and spun around, instinctively nocking another arrow. Behind her, where the deer had been, smoldered a large circle of grass and trees. Many of the pines stood bare of their needles. The grass outside the charring was flattened. A wisp of smoke curled in the air, carrying a burnt smell. In the center of the blast radius lay a polished silver stone. Mist snaked across the scorched area and swirled insubstantial tendrils over the stone. Evangeline watched for danger for several long minutes, but the only thing that moved was the mist. Cautiously, the young girl released the tension from her bow and moved forward.

Moonlight cast her slender form in pale shadow as she stopped before the stone. She nudged it with an arrow, then jumped back. Nothing happened, so she warily picked it up. Nature had never polished a stone as smooth as this one. Its flawless surface was silver, except for thin veins of white that spider-webbed across it. The stone was cool and frictionless under her delicate fingers, like hardened satin. Oval and about a foot long, it weighed several pounds, but felt lighter than it should have.

Evangeline found the stone both beautiful and frightening.

_Where in the world did it come from? Does it have a purpose?_ She wondered, but then a more disturbing thought came to her. If she had learned anything from the old stories, it was to treat magic, and those who used it, with extreme caution. _Was it sent here by accident, or am I meant to have it? What should I do with it?_

It would be tiresome to carry, and there was a change it was dangerous. It might be better to leave it behind. A

flicker of indecision ran through her, and she almost dropped it, but something steadied her hand.

_Well, at the very least it might pay for some food,_ she decided with a shrug, tucking the stone into her pack. The glen was too exposed to make a safe camp, so she slipped into the forest and spread her bedroll beneath the upturned roots of a fallen tree. After a cold dinner of bread and cheese, she wrapped herself up and fell asleep, thinking about what had occurred.

**TXXXXXT**

The sun rose the next morning with a glorious conflagration of pink and yellow. The air was fresh, sweet, and very cold. Ice edged the streams, and small pools of water were completely frozen over. After a small breakfast of porridge, Evangeline returned to the glen and examined the charred area. The morning light revealed no new details, so she started out for home. The rough game trail was faintly worn and, in some places, utterly nonexistent. Because it had been forged by animals, it often back-tracked and took long detours... but for all its flaws, it was still the fastest way out of the mountains. On top of that... the Spine was one of the only places that King Galbatorix could not call his own.

Stories were still told about how half his army disappeared after marching into its ancient forest.

A cloud of misfortune and bad luck seemed to hang over it: though the trees grew tall and the sky shone brightly, few people could stay in the Spine for long without suffering an accident. Evangeline was one of those few—not through any particular gift, it seemed to her, but simply because of her persistent vigilance and sharp reflexes. She'd hiked in these mountains for years, yet she was still extremely wary of them: every time she began to think she had discovered their secrets, something happened to upset her understanding of them—like the stone's appearance.

She kept up a brisk pace, and the leagues steadily disappeared. Late in the evening she arrived at the edge of a precipitous ravine. The Anora River rushed by far below, heading to Palancar Valley. Gorged with hundreds of tiny streams, the river was a brute force, battling against the rocks and boulders that barred its way. A low rumble filled the air. She camped in a thicket near the ravine and watched the moonrise before falling asleep.

It grew colder over the next day and a half.

Evangeline traveled quickly and saw little of the wary wildlife. A bit past noon, she heard the Igualda falls blanketing everything with the thundering sound of a thousand splashes. The trail led her onto a moist slate outcropping, which the river sped past, flinging itself into empty air and down the mossy cliffs. Before her lay Palancar Valley, exposed like an unrolled map. The base of the Igualda Falls, more than half a mile below, was the northernmost point of the valley. A little ways from the falls was Carvahall, a little cluster of brown buildings that looked small and insignificant from such an incredible height: white smoke rose from the chimneys, defiant of the wilderness around it.

At this height, farms were small square patches no bigger than her fingernail. The land around them was tan or sandy, where dead grass swayed in the wind. The Anora River wound from the falls toward Palancar's southern end, reflecting bright strips of sunlight. Far in the distance it flowed past the village of Therinsford and the lonely mountain Utgard. Beyond that, she knew only that it turned north and ran to the sea.

After a pause, Evangeline left the outcropping and started down the trail, grimacing at the steep descent.

When she arrived at the bottom, soft dusk was creeping over everything, blurring colors and shapes into gray masses. Carvahall's lights shimmered nearby in the twilight; the houses cast long shadows. Aside from Therinsford, Carvahall was the only village in Palancar Valley. The settlement was secluded and surrounded by harsh, beautiful land. Few traveled here except merchants and trappers. The village was composed of stout log buildings with low roofs—some thatched, others shingled. Smoke billowed from the chimneys, giving the air a woody smell. The buildings had wide porches where people gathered to talk and conduct business. Occasionally a window brightened as a candle or lamp was lit. Evangeline heard men talking loudly in the evening air while wives scurried to fetch their husbands, scolding them for being late as wove her way between the houses to the butcher's shop. It was a broad, thick-beamed building. Overhead, the chimney belched black smoke.

She took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The spacious room was warm and well lit by a fire snapping in a stone fireplace. A bare counter stretched across the far side of the room. The floor was strewn with loose straw. Everything was scrupulously clean, as if the owner spent his leisure time digging in obscure nooks and crannies for miniscule pieces of filth. Behind the counter stood the butcher, Sloan; he was a small man, and he was always wearing a cotton shirt and a long, bloodstained smock whenever Evangeline saw him. An impressive array of knives swung from his belt. He had a sallow, pockmarked face, and his brown eyes were suspicious. He polished the counter with a ragged cloth.

Sloan's mouth twisted when Evangeline entered.

"Well, the mighty huntress joins the rest of us mortals," he sneered. "How many did you bag this time?"

"None," was Evangeline's curt reply; she had never really gotten along with Sloan, even when she'd been younger. The butcher had always treated her with disdain, as though she were something unclean. A widower, Sloan seemed to care for only one person—his daughter, Katrina, on whom he doted.

"I'm amazed," Sloan stated with mock astonishment. He turned his back on Evangeline to scrape something off the wall. "And that's your reason for coming here?"

"Yes," Evangeline admitted, shifting her weight uneasily.

"If that's the case, let's see your money," Sloan turned around again, tapping his fingers when Evangeline shifted her weight again and remained silent. "Come on—either you have it, or you don't. Which is it?"

"I don't really have any money," the girl murmured, "but I do—"

"What, no money?" the butcher snorted, sharply cutting her off. "And you expect to buy meat! Are the other merchants giving away their wares? Should I just hand you the goods without charge? Besides, it's late. Come back tomorrow with money. I'm closed for the day."

Evangeline glared at him.

"I can't wait until tomorrow, Sloan. It'll be worth your while, though; I found something to pay you with," she sighed, shooting him a look before pulling out the stone and set it gently on the scarred counter, where it gleamed with light from the dancing flames.

_"Stole_ it is more likely," the butcher muttered, leaning forward with an interested expression.

"I've never stolen anything from anyone before. Why would I start now?" Evangeline inquired stiffly; not waiting for an answer, she went on, "Will this be enough?"

Sloan picked up the stone and gauged its weight speculatively. He ran his hands over its smooth surface and inspected the white veins. With a calculating look, he set it down.

"It's pretty, but how much is it worth?" he inquired.

"I don't really know," Evangeline admitted, "but no one would have gone through the trouble of shaping the way they did unless it had some value."

"Obviously," Sloan scoffed with exaggerated patience, "but how much value? Since you don't know, I suggest that you find a trader who does or take my offer of three crowns."

"That's a miser's bargain!" Evangeline protested. "It must be worth at least five times that, maybe more!"

Three crowns wouldn't even buy enough meat to last a week.

"If you don't like my offer, wait until the traders arrive,"Sloan shrugged. "Either way, I'm tired of this conversation."

The traders were a nomadic group of merchants and entertainers who visited Carvahall every spring and winter. They bought whatever excess the villagers and local farmers had managed to grow or make, and sold what they needed to live through another year: seeds, animals, fabric, and supplies like salt and sugar. However, Evangeline didn't want to wait until they arrived; it could be a while, and her family needed the meat now.

"Fine," she sighed in defeat, shaking her reddish brown bangs out of her eyes, "I accept."

"Good, I'll get you the meat," Sloan triumphantly replied. "Not that it matters, but where did you find this?"

"Oh," the girl mumbled unhappily, "I found it two nights ago up in the Spine—"

"Get out!" Sloan demanded, cutting her off and pushing the stone away. He stomped furiously to the end of the counter and started scrubbing old bloodstains off a knife.

"What? Why?" Evangeline asked, drawing the stone closer, as if to protect it from Sloan's wrath.

"I won't deal with anything you bring back from those damned mountains! Take your sorcerer's stone elsewhere." Sloan's hand suddenly slipped and he cut his finger badly on the knife, but he seemed not to notice. He continued to scrub, staining the blade with fresh blood.

"You refuse to sell to me?" she asked, eyes taking on an incredulous expression. "Even after you already agreed to take what I offered?"

"Yes! Unless you pay with coins," Sloan growled, hefting the knife and sidling towards her. "Go, before I make you!"

Evangeline's hand had just gripped her hunting knife in case self defense was necessary, when the door behind them slammed open. Evangeline whirled around, ready for more trouble. In stomped Horst, a burly, hulking man. Sloan's daughter Katrina—a tall girl of sixteen—trailed behind him with a determined expression. Evangeline was surprised to see her; she and Katrina had kept their distance ever since the day ten years ago when Sloan had screamed at both of them for picking wildflowers together. He'd called Evangeline filthy names, and had dragged Katrina away, scolding her and shouting that she shouldn't play with whatever trash is blowing on the street.

"Horst," Sloan noted, glancing at them warily before he started to accuse Evangeline. "She won't—"

"Quiet," the man announced in his rumbling voice, cracking his knuckles at the same time. He was Carvahall's smith, as his thick neck and scarred leather apron attested. His powerful arms were bare to the elbow; a great expanse of hairy muscular chest was visible through the top of his shirt. A black beard, carelessly trimmed, roiled and knotted like his jaw muscles. "Sloan, what have you done now?"

"Nothing!" he gave Evangeline a murderous gaze, then spat, "This… _girl_ came in and started badgering me. I asked her to leave, but she won't budge. I even threatened her, and she still ignored me!"

Sloan seemed to shrink as he looked at Horst.

"Is this true?" the smith demanded.

"No, I didn't do that!" Evangeline replied with a wide-eyed look, frantically shaking her head. "I offered this stone as some payment for some meat, and he accepted it, but when I told him that I'd found it in the Spine he refused to even touch it! What difference does it make where it came from?"

Horst looked at the stone curiously, and then returned his attention to the butcher.

"Why don't you trade with her, Sloan?" he inquired. "I've no love for the Spine myself, but if it's a question of the stone's worth, I'll back it with my own money."

The question hung in the air for a moment, but then Sloan licked his lips.

"This is my store," the man stated. "That means I can do whatever I want."

Katrina stepped out from behind Horst and tossed her waist-length auburn hair like a spray of molten copper. Their hair length was what had first drawn Katrina's and Evangeline's curiosity to one another: they were the only two people in all of Palancar Valley to have never cut their hair, not even once in their life, so they felt as though they shared something fairly special. Most of the women only had hair past their shoulder-blades.

"Father, Evangeline is willing to pay," Katrina stated. "Give her the meat, and then we can have supper."

"Go back to the house; this is none of your business…" Sloan hissed, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I said go!"

Katrina's face hardened, then she marched out of the room with a stiff back.

Evangeline watched her leave with sympathetic disapproval, but dared not interfere.

"Fine," Horst muttered, tugging at his beard before, "Fine, Sloan, you can deal with me. What were you going to get, Evangeline?"

"As much as I could…" the girl absently replied, staring solemnly at the door Katrina had disappeared through.

"Give me your best roasts and steaks. Make sure that its enough to fill Evangeline's pack," Horst rumbled, pulling out a purse and counting out a pile of coins. Evangeline's eyes went wide in surprise and her gaze darted to look up at the smith.

"Uh…" the butcher hesitated, beady gaze darting between Horst and Evangeline.

"Not selling to me would be a very bad idea," the smith stated; glowering venomously, Sloan slipped into the back room and a frenzy of chopping, wrapping, and low cursing reached them. After several uncomfortable minutes, he returned with an armful of wrapped meat. His face was expressionless as he accepted Horst's money, and then proceeded—unsuccessfully because of his deep cut—to clean his knife, pretending that they weren't there. Horst scooped up the meat and walked outside. Evangeline hurried behind him, carrying her pack and the stone with shaking hands.

The crisp night air rolled over their faces, feeling refreshing after the stuffy shop.

"Thank you very much, Horst," she sighed, tucking a stray strand of her reddish brown hair behind her ear. "Uncle Garrow will be pleased."

"Don't thank me, girl. I've wanted to do that for a long time," Horst laughed quietly. "Sloan's a vicious troublemaker; it does him good to be humbled. Katrina heard what was happening and ran to fetch me. Good thing I came, too—from the looks of things when I walked in, the two of you were nearly at dagger-point. Unfortunately, I doubt he'll serve you or any of your family the next time you go in there, even if you do have coins."

"Why did he explode like that?" Evangeline quipped, opening her pack. "We've never been friendly, but he's always taken our money. And I've rarely seen him treat Katrina the way he did tonight."

"Ask your uncle," Horst suggested with a shrug. "He knows more about it than I do."

"Well, now I have one more reason to hurry home: to solve this mystery. Here, this is rightfully yours," Evangeline said, stuffing the meat into her pack before she held out the stone.

"No, you keep your strange rock," Horst chuckled. "As for payment, Albriech plans to leave for Feinster next spring. He wants to become a master smith, and I'm going to need an assistant. You can come and work off the debt on your spare days, if you think you can handle it."

Horst grinned when he saw Evangeline's unique amber eyes light up: the girl broke into a huge smile and bowed her head gratefully. Horst had two sons named Albriech and Baldor, both of them who worked in his forge. Taking one's place was an extremely generous offer that she knew Horst wouldn't hand out to just anyone. Especially considering she was one of the smallest females living in Carvahall.

"I hope Baldor won't get upset that he's going to be outdone by a girl half his size and age! Thank you! I look forward to working with you!" she laughed, eyes sparkling merrily. She was glad there was a way for her to pay the man, because her uncle would never accept charity. Then Evangeline remembered what her cousin had told her before she had left on the hunt. "Oh, right... Roran wanted me to give Katrina a message, but since I can't, could you get it to her for me?"

"Of course," Horst replied sincerely.

"He wants her to know that he'll come into town as soon as the merchants arrive and that he'll see her then," Evangeline stated, slender brown eyebrows drawing together as she tried to remember the rest.

"That all?" Horst inquired, raising a bushy eyebrow.

"No, he…" Evangeline blushed madly, her cheeks going from pale white to scarlet with embarrassment. "Er… he also wants her to know that she is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen, and that he thinks of nothing else."

Horst's face broke into a broad grin, and he winked at Evangeline.

"Getting serious, isn't he?" the man inquired.

"Yes, sir," Evangeline answered, giggling as she blushed an even deeper shade of scarlet. "Could you also give her a message from me? Tell her that she has my thanks because she stood up to her father for me. She didn't have to do that, and I'm grateful. Oh... and tell her to help Sloan with his cut finger. From what I saw, he'll probably bleed to death if he doesn't get help with it soon."

"I'll do just that." Horst chuckled.

"I really hope that she isn't punished because of me," Evangeline murmured. "Roran would be furious if I got her into trouble."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Eve," Horst assured her. "Sloan doesn't know that she called me, so I doubt he'll be too hard on her. However, before you go, will you sup with us?"

"That sounds wonderful…" Evangeline sighed regretfully, tying off the top of her pack before looking up at the hulking blacksmith. "Elain's cooking is the best in Carvahall, and I thank you for offering, but... I can't. Garrow is expecting me."

"Okay, take care." Horst said with a smirk.

"I will, and thanks again, Horst!" she replied over her shoulder. With a strained groan, she heaved her traveling pack onto her back and started down the road, waving farewell. Horst waved back, then he shook his head with a pondering grin on his face.

"I have to admit," he rumbled to himself, scratching his chin, "that Evangeline may be smaller and weaker than everyone else in the village, but she's got a strong will and more determination than _any_ grown man I've ever met. She'd be a fine blacksmith."

Then he began walking toward his own home.

The meat slowed Evangeline down, but she was eager to be home and renewed vigor filled her steps. The village ended abruptly, and she left its warm lights behind. The opalescent moon peeked over the mountains, bathing the land in a ghostly reflection of daylight. Everything looked bleached and flat. Near the end of her journey, she turned off the road, which continued south. A simple path led straight through the waist-high grass and up a knoll, almost hidden by the shadows of protective elm trees. She crested the hill and saw a gentle light shining from her home. The house had a shingled roof and a brick chimney. Eaves hung over the white-washed walls, shadowing the ground below. One side of the enclosed porch was filled with split wood, ready for the fire. A jumble of farm tools cluttered the other side.

The house had been abandoned for half a century when they'd moved in after Garrow's wife, Marian, died. It was ten miles from Carvahall, farther than anyone else's. People considered the distance dangerous because the family couldn't rely on help from the village in times of trouble, but Evangeline's uncle wouldn't listen. A hundred feet from the house, in a dull rust-colored barn, lived two horses—Birka and Brugh—with chickens and a cow. Sometimes there was also a pig, but they had been unable to afford one this year. A wagon sat wedged between the stalls. On the edge of their fields, a thick line of trees traced the Anora River. She saw a light move behind a window as she wearily reached the porch.

"Uncle, it's me, Evangeline. Can you let me in?" she called quietly, tapping on the door. A small shutter slid back for a second, and then the door swung inward. Garrow stood with his hand on the door-frame. His clothes hung on him like rags on a stick frame. A lean face with intense brown eyes gazed at the girl standing in the doorway.

"Roran's sleeping," was his answer to Evangeline's inquiring glance. A lantern flickered on a wooden table so old that the grain stood up in tiny ridges like a giant fingerprint. Near an old woodstove were rows of cooking utensils tacked onto the wall with homemade nails. A second door opened to the rest of the house. The floor was made of wooden boards polished smooth by years of tramping feet.

Sighing wearily, Evangeline pulled off her pack and began taking out the meat.

"What's this? Evangeline Alexandria, did you _buy_ meat?" her uncle demanded when he saw the wrapped packages.

"No," Evangeline murmured, taking a deep breath. "Horst bought it for us."

"You let him pay for it?" Garrow demanded, face reddening with anger. "I've told you before, I won't beg for our food! If we can't feed ourselves, we might as well move into town. Before you can turn around twice, they'll be sending us used clothes and asking if we'll be able to get through the winter!"

"I didn't accept charity," Evangeline protested snappishly. "Horst agreed to let me work off the debt this spring. He needs someone to help him in the forge because Albriech is going away."

"And where will a girl like you find the time to work for him?" Garrow demanded, forcing his voice down. "Are you going to ignore all the things that need to be done around here?"

"I don't know how I'll do it," Evangeline muttered irritably, hanging her bow and quiver on hooks beside the front door before setting the stone on the table. "But for the time being, I found something that could be worth some money."

"Hmm?" Garrow bent over the stone with a hungry look flashing through his eyes. "You found this in the Spine?"

"Yes," Evangeline sighed, the proceeded to explain what had happened. "And to make matters worse, I lost my best arrow. I'll have to make more before long."

"How was the weather?" her uncle asked after a moment, lifting the stone cautiously. His hands tightened around it like he was afraid it would suddenly disappear.

"Cold," Evangeline replied. "It didn't snow, but it froze each night."

Garrow looked worried by the news.

"Tomorrow you'll have to help Roran finish harvesting the barley. If we can get the squash picked, too, the frost won't bother us." He passed the stone to Evangeline and said, "Here, keep it. When the traders come, we'll find out what it's worth. Selling it is probably the best thing to do. The less we're involved with magic, the better. By the way, why did Horst pay for the meat?"

It only took a few moments to explain her arguments with Sloan.

"I just don't understand what angered him so," the girl mumbled once she was finished.

"Sloan's wife, Ismira, went over the Igualda Falls a year before you were brought to us. He hasn't been near the Spine since, nor had anything to do with it." Garrow noted with a shrug. "However, that's no reason to refuse payment of any sort. I think he simply wanted to give you trouble."

"Oh," Evangeline mumbled, swaying sleepily before she murmured, "well, either way, it's good to be home."

"It's good to have you home," Garrow's replied, eyes softening before he nodded. "Off to bed with you."

Evangeline stumbled to her room, pushed the stone under her bed, untied her long braid and shook it out, took off her boots, and then fell on her mattress, too exhausted to do more.

_Home..._ For the first time since before the hunt, she relaxed completely as sleep overtook her.


	3. Chapter 2: Dragon Tales

**Chapter Two: Dragon Tales**

At dawn, the sun's rays streamed through the window and warmed Evangeline's face. Opening her sparkling amber eyes, the slender girl sat up on the edge of the bed and rubbed her eyes before looking at the sheets for a long moment. The pine floor was cold under her feet when she finally stretched her sore legs and rubbed her back, yawning. Beside the bed was a row of shelves covered with objects she had collected over the years.

There were beautifully carved wooden birds and animals, odd-looking bits of shells, rocks that had broken to reveal shiny or crystallized interiors, and even the skull of a creature that nobody could identify—even a trapper who had been passing through. Her favorite item, however, was the carving she had done of her family when she'd been twelve years old: she never tired of looking at it. The rest of the room was bare, except for a small dresser and a nightstand. After she'd changed into clean clothes, she pulled on her boots and gazed at the floor, thinking.

This was a special day.

It was near this very hour, fifteen years ago, that her mother, Selena, had come to Carvahall alone and pregnant. She had been gone for six years, living in the cities. When she'd returned, she wore expensive clothes and her hair had been bound by a net of pearls. She had sought out her brother, Garrow, and asked to stay with him until the baby arrived. Within five months, her daughter had been born. However, everyone had been shocked when Selena tearfully begged Garrow and Marian to raise her. When they asked why, she only wept.

"I must…" she'd sobbed. "I must..."

Her pleas had grown increasingly desperate until they'd finally agreed. She'd named the baby Evangeline Alexandria, then departed early the next morning and never returned. Evangeline still remembered how she'd felt when Marian had told her the story before she died. The realization that Garrow and Marian weren't her real parents had disturbed her greatly. Things that had been permanent and unquestionable had suddenly been thrown into doubt within a minute. Eventually, she had learned to live with it, but even to this day the girl had a feeling, sleeping down in the depths of her heart, that she hadn't been good enough for her mother.

_I'm sure there was a good reason for what she did,_ the girl told herself._ I only wish I knew what it was._

One other thing bothered her: who was her father? Selena had told no one, and whoever it might have been had never come looking for Evangeline. She wished she knew who it was, if only to have a name. It would have been nice to know her heritage. She sighed and went to the nightstand, where she splashed her face, shivering as the water ran down her neck. Then she grabbed the brush from her nightstand and ran it through her thigh-length hair until she looked presentable; once the glossy strands were smooth, she braided her tresses back and tied them with a ribbon. Feeling refreshed and satisfied with her appearance, Evangeline retrieved the stone from under the bed and set it on a shelf. The morning light caressed it, throwing a warm shadow on the wall. She touched it one last time, and then hurried to the kitchen, eager to see her family.

Garrow and Roran were already there, eating chicken.

As Evangeline greeted them, her cousin stood up with a grin: even though Roran was four years older than Evangeline—plus two feet taller—he was extremely muscular, sturdy, and careful with his movements. The two of them couldn't have been closer even if they had been real siblings—as Roran purposely demonstrated when he walked over, wrapped the tiny girl up in a bear hug, and spun her around in dizzying circles.

"Well, I'm glad _you're_ back!" he howled merrily, spinning her around. "How was the trip, little lady?"

"Hard," Evangeline laughed hysterically, wheezing slightly because of the tight grip around her middle. "Not _half_ as hard as your _hugs,_ though!"

"Nice to know I'm shaping up, then," Roran chuckled, setting Evangeline back on the floor and flexing his biceps comically.

"Did Uncle tell you what happened?" she giggled, helping herself to a piece of chicken and happily biting into it.

"No," Roran replied curiously, so Evangeline retold the story without embellishment. However, at her cousin's insistence, Evangeline left her food to show him the stone. This elicited a satisfactory amount of awe, but Roran soon asked nervously, "Were you able to talk with Katrina?"

"No, there wasn't an opportunity after the argument with Sloan," Evangeline replied with a sigh. "She'll expect you when the traders come, though. I gave the message to Horst; he'll get it to her."

"You told Horst…?" Roran asked incredulously, face going red in anger. "That was private. If I wanted everyone to know about it, I could have built a bonfire and used smoke signals to communicate. If Sloan finds out about it, he won't let me see her again."

"Horst will be discreet," Evangeline assured him. "He won't let anyone fall prey to Sloan, least of all you."

Roran seemed unconvinced, but he let the subject drop. They returned to their meals in the taciturn presence of Garrow, but when the last bites were finished all three went to work in the fields. The sun was cold and pale, providing little comfort. Under its watchful presence, the last of the barley was stored in the barn. Next, they gathered prickly-vined squash, then the rutabagas, beets, peas, turnips, and beans, which they packed into the root cellar. After hours of labor, they stretched their cramped muscles, pleased that the harvesting was finished.

The following days were spent pickling, salting, shelling, and preparing the food for winter.

Nine days after Evangeline's return, a vicious blizzard blew out of the mountains and settled over the valley. The snow came down in great sheets, blanketing the countryside in white. They only dared to leave the house for firewood and to feed the animals, for they feared that they would get lost in the howling wind and featureless landscape. They spent their time huddled over the stove as gusts rattled the heavy window shutters.

Days later the storm finally passed, revealing an alien world of soft white drifts.

"I'm afraid the traders might not come this year with conditions this bad," Garrow said grimly. "They're late enough as it is. We'll give them a chance and wait before going to Carvahall, but if they don't show up soon we'll have to buy any spare supplies from the townspeople."

They grew anxious as the days crept by without sign of the traders. Talk was sparse, and depression hung over the house. On the eighth morning, Roran walked to the road and confirmed that the traders had not yet passed. The day was spent readying for the trip into Carvahall, scrounging with grim expressions for salvageable items. That evening, out of desperation, Evangeline checked the road again. She found deep ruts cut into the snow, with numerous hoof-prints between them. Elated, the girl ran back to the house, laughing and whooping excitedly.

Her return brought new life to their preparations.

**TXXXXXT**

They packed their surplus produce into the wagon before sunrise. Garrow put the year's money in a leather pouch that he carefully fastened to his belt. Evangeline set the wrapped stone between bags of grain so it wouldn't roll when the wagon hit bumps. After a hasty breakfast, they harnessed the horses and cleared a path to the road. The traders' wagons had already broken the drifts, which sped their progress.

By noon, they could see Carvahall.

In daylight, it was a small earthy village filled with shouts and laughter. The traders had made camp in an empty field on the outskirts of town. Groups of wagons, tents, and fires were randomly spread across it—spots of color against the snow. The troubadours' four tents were garishly decorated. A steady stream of people linked the camp to the village. Crowds churned around a line of bright tents and booths clogging the main street; horses whinnied at the noise. The snow had been pounded flat, giving it a glassy surface; elsewhere, bonfires had melted it. Roasted hazelnuts added a rich aroma to the smells wafting around them. Garrow parked the wagon and picketed the horses, then drew coins from his pouch.

"Get yourselves some treats," the man stated, handing them the coins. "Roran, do what you want, but be sure you're at Horst's house in time for supper. Evangeline, bring that stone and come with me."

Evangeline smiled at Roran with a wink before she pocketed the money. Roran departed immediately with a determined expression on his face. Garrow led Evangeline into the throng, shouldering his way through the bustle. Women were buying cloth, while nearby their husbands examined a new latch, hook, or tool. Children ran up and down the road, shrieking with excitement. Knives were displayed here, spices there, and pots were laid out in shiny rows next to leather harnesses.

Evangeline stared at the traders curiously.

They seemed less prosperous than last year, their children had a frightened, wary look in their eyes, and every trader had at least one patch in their clothes. The gaunt men carried swords and daggers with a new familiarity, and even the woman had poniards belted at their waists.

_What could have happened to make them like this? And why are they so late?_ Evangeline wondered. She remembered the traders as being full of good cheer and laughter, but there was none of that now. Garrow continued pushing down the street, searching for Merlock, a trader who specialized in odd trinkets and pieces of jewelry. They found him behind a booth, displaying brooches to a group of women. As each new piece was revealed, exclamations of admiration followed. Evangeline grinned and guessed that more than a few purses would soon be depleted.

Merlock seemed to flourish and grow every time his wares were complimented. He had an impish looking goatee, held himself with ease, and seemed to regard the rest of the world with slight contempt. The excited group prevented Garrow and Evangeline from getting near the trader, so they settled on a step and waited. As soon as Merlock was unoccupied, the two of them hurried over before more people showed up.

"And what might you, noble sir and lady, want to look at? An amulet or trinket for a lover?" Merlock asked, and with a twirl he pulled out a delicately carved rose medallion of excellent workmanship. The heavy silver chain glistened in the light. The rose was painted a shimmering green on the stem, and a fiery iridescent crimson on the petals. The painted metal caught Evangeline's attention, and she gazed at it with admiration. "Not even three crowns, though it has come all the way from the famed craftsmen of Belatona."

_"Wow…_ it's beautiful," she breathed. "I'd like to purchase it, please."

"Wonderful choice, my lady," Merlock said as she pulled out three of the ten coins she'd been given. After she'd set the money on the counter, Merlock handed her the rose with a flourish. Evangeline admired it, stroking the shimmering petals.

"We weren't looking to buy, but to sell." Garrow spoke in a quiet voice, and Merlock immediately looked at them with new interest.

"I see. Maybe, if this item is of any value, you would like to trade it for one or two of these exquisite pieces." He paused for a moment while Evangeline and her uncle stood uncomfortably, then continued, "You did bring the object of consideration?"

"We have it, but we would rather show it to you elsewhere," Garrow replied in a firm voice.

"In that case, let me show you to my tent." Merlock stated, raising an eyebrow. He gathered up his wares and gently laid them in an iron-bound chest, which he locked. Then he ushered them up the street and into the temporary camp. They wound between the wagons to a tent removed from the rest of the traders'. It was crimson at the top and sable at the bottom, with thin triangles of color stabbing into each other. Merlock untied the opening and swung the flap to one side. Small trinkets and pieces of furniture, such as a round bed and three seats carved from tree stumps, filled the tent. A gnarled dagger with a ruby in the pommel rested on a white cushion. Merlock closed the flap and turned to them.

"Please, seat yourselves," he offered, gesturing to the chair; when they had, he proceeded to instruct, "Show me why we are meeting in private."

"Yessir," Evangeline replied, unwrapping the stone and set it between the two men.

"My word," Merlock murmured, reaching for it with a gleam in his eyes; then stopped and asked, "May I?"

When Garrow indicated his approval, Merlock picked it up. He put the stone in his lap and reached to one side for a thin box. Once opened, the box revealed a large set of copper scales, which he set on the ground. After weighing the stone, he scrutinized its surface under a jeweler's glass, tapped it gently with a wooden mallet, and drew the point of a tiny clear stone over it. He measured its length and diameter, and then recorded the figures on a slate. He considered the results for a while.

"Do you know what this is worth?" he asked.

"No," Garrow admitted, cheek twitching as he shifted uncomfortably on the seat.

"Unfortunately, neither do I," Merlock replied with grimace. "But I can tell you this much: the white veins are the same material as the silver that surrounds them, only a different color. What that material might be, though, I haven't a clue. It's harder than any stone I've ever seen—harder even than diamond. Whoever shaped it used tools I have never seen—or magic. Also, this stone is hollow."

_"What?"_ Garrow exclaimed with a disbelieving look on his face; an irritated edge crept into Merlock's voice.

"Have you ever heard a rock sound like this?" He grabbed the dagger from the cushion and slapped the stone with the flat of the blade. A pure note filled the air, and then faded away. Evangeline was slightly alarmed, afraid that the stone had been damaged. Merlock tilted the stone toward them. "You will find no scratches or blemishes where the dagger struck. I doubt I could do anything to harm this stone, even if I took a hammer to it."

Garrow crossed his arms with a reserved expression. A wall of silence surrounded him. Evangeline, however, was puzzled.

_I knew that the stone had appeared in the Spine by magic, but made by_ magic? she wondered, feeling thoroughly puzzled._ What for, and why? _

"But, what is it worth?" she suddenly asked.

"I can't tell you that," Merlock replied in a pained voice. "I'm sure there are people who would pay dearly to have it, but none of them are in Carvahall. You would have to go to the southern cities to find a buyer. This is a curiosity for most people—not an item to spend money on when practical things are needed."

"I see." Garrow stared at the tent ceiling like a gambler calculating the odds. "Will you buy it?"

"No," the trader answered instantly, "It's not worth the risk. I might be able to find a wealthy buyer during my spring travels, but I can't be certain. Even if I did, you wouldn't be paid until I returned next year. No, you will have to find someone else to trade with. I am curious, however… Why did you insist on talking to me in private?"

"Because," Evangeline said hesitantly as put the stone away and glanced at the man, wondering if he would explode like Sloan, "I found this in the Spine, and folks around here don't like that."

"What?" Merlock asked, giving her a startled look before asking, "Do you know why my fellow merchants and I were late this year?"

Evangeline shook her head.

"Our wanderings have been dogged with misfortune. Chaos seems to rule Alagaësia. We could not avoid attacks, illness, and the most cursed of black luck. Because the Varden's attacks have been migrating southeast, toward the Hadarac Desert, Galbatorix has forced cities to send more soldiers to the borders: men who are needed to combat the Urgals. The brutes have been migrating southeast, toward the Hadarac Desert. No one knows why and it wouldn't concern us—except that they're passing through heavily populated areas. They've been spotted on roads and near cities, and worst of all are the reports of a Shade, though the stories are unconfirmed. Not many people survive such an encounter."

"Why haven't we heard any of this?!" Evangeline cried, aghast.

"Because," said Merlock grimly, "it only began a few months ago. Whole villages have been forced to move because Urgals destroyed their fields and starvation threatens them."

"Nonsense," Garrow growled. "We haven't seen any Urgals; the only one around here has his horns mounted in Morn's Tavern."

"Maybe so," Merlock admitted, arching an eyebrow, "but this is a small village hidden by mountains. It's not surprising you've escaped notice, but I wouldn't expect that to last. I only mentioned this because strange things are happening here as well if you found such a stone in the Spine."

With that sobering statement, he bid them farewell with a bow and a slight smile.

Garrow headed back to Carvahall with his niece trailing close behind.

"What should we do?" Evangeline asked quietly.

"I'm going to get more information before I make up my mind," the man explained without looking at her. "Take the stone back to the wagon, and then go do what you want. I'll meet you at Horst's for dinner."

Evangeline immediately dodged through the crowd and happily dashed back to the wagon. Trading would take her uncle hours, time that she planned to enjoy fully. She hid the stone under the bags, and then looked down at the medallion still clutched in her hand. She admired it once more before slipping it around her neck, and then she set out into town with a determined stride. She walked from one booth to another, evaluating the goods on display with a buyer's eye, despite her meager supply of coins.

When she talked to the merchants, they confirmed what Merlock had said about the instability in Alagaësia.

Over and over the message was repeated: last year's security has deserted us; new dangers have appeared, and nothing is safe. Later in the day she bought an intricate rosewood carving of an eagle for Roran, two sticks of malt candy, and a piping-hot cherry pie. The hot food felt good after hours of standing in the snow. She licked the sticky syrup from her fingers regretfully, wishing for more, then sat on the edge of a porch and nibbled a piece of candy while she watched the other villagers. Two handsome boys from Carvahall wrestled nearby, but she felt no inclination to join them even though she knew she was perfectly capable of keeping up.

As the day descended into late afternoon, the traders took their businesses into people's homes. Evangeline was impatient for evening, when the troubadours would come out to tell stories and perform tricks. She loved hearing about magic, gods, and—if they were especially lucky—the Dragon Riders. Carvahall had its own storyteller, Brom—a very close friend of Evangeline's—but his tales grew old over the years, whereas the always had new ones that she listened to eagerly.

Evangeline had just broken off an icicle from the underside of the porch when she spotted Sloan nearby. The butcher hadn't seen her, so the girl ducked her head and bolted around a corner toward Morn's tavern. The inside of the building was hot and filled with greasy smoke from sputtering tallow candles. The shining black Urgal horns, their twisted span as great as her outstretched arms, were mounted over the door.

The bar was long and low, with a stack of staves on one end for customers to carve.

Morn tended the bar, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His face was warm and always seemed to have a gentle expression on it. People crowded around slid oak tables and listened to two traders who had finished their business early and come in for beer. Morn looked up from a mug he was cleaning the second she walked inside and broke into a huge grin.

"Eve!" he called with a wave. "It's good to see you, girl. Where's your uncle?"

"Buying," Evangeline laughed with a nonchalant shrug. "He's probably going to be a while."

"And Roran?" Morn asked cheerfully, swiping the cloth through another mug. "Is he here?"

"Yessir, no sick animals to keep him back this year," Evangeline replied with a nod.

"Good, good."

"Who are they?" Evangeline asked, gesturing to the two traders.

"Grain buyers," Morn replied wryly, face instantly contorting into an irritated scowl. "They bought everyone's seed at ridiculously low prices, and now they're telling wild stories that they expect us to believe."

"What kind of stories?" she asked curiously.

"They say the Varden have formed a pact with the Urgals and are massing an army to attack us," Morn snorted sarcastically. "Supposedly, it's only through the grace of our king that we've been protected for so long—as if Galbatorix would care if we burned to the ground. Go listen to them, Evie. I have enough on my hands without explaining their lies."

The first chair filled a chair with his enormous girth; his every movement caused it to protest loudly. There was no hint of hair on his face, his pudgy hands were smooth, and he had a pouting lip that curled petulantly as he sipped from a flagon. The second trader had a florid face. The skin around his jaw was dry and corpulent, filled with lumps of hard fat, like cold butter gone rancid. Contrasted with his neck and jowls, the rest of his body was unnaturally thin. The first trader vainly tried to pull back his expanding borders to fit within the chair.

"No, no, you don't understand," he said. "It's only through the king's unceasing efforts on your behalf that you are able to argue with us in safety. If he—in all his wisdom—were to withdraw that support, woe unto you!"

"Yeah, right," someone hollered, "and why don't you also tell us that the Riders have returned and you've each killed a hundred elves. Do you take us for children who'll believe your tales? We can take care of ourselves."

The group chuckled, and the fat trader started to reply when his thin companion intervened with a wave of his hand.

"You misunderstand. We know that the Empire cannot care for each one of us personally, as you may want it to. However, it can keep Urgals and other abominations from overrunning this," he searched vaguely for the right term, "place. You're angry with the Empire for treating people unfairly, a legitimate concern, but a government cannot please everyone. There will inevitably be arguments and conflicts. However, the majority of us have nothing to complain about. Every country has some small group of malcontents who aren't satisfied with the balance of power."

"Yeah," a young woman called, "if you're willing to call the Varden small!"

"We already explained that the Varden have no interest of helping you," the fat man sighed. "That's only a falsehood perpetuated by the traitors in an attempt to disrupt the Empire and convince us that the real threat is inside—not outside—our borders. All they want to do is overthrow the king and take possession of our land. They have spies everywhere now because they're planning to invade. You never know who might be working for them."

Evangeline didn't agree at all, but the traders' words were smooth and people were beginning to nod. Feeling an argument already beginning to take root, the girl decided to speak up for her village.

"How do you know that the Empire is helping us?" she demanded bluntly, catching the attention of everyone in the room by stepping forward and flipping her chestnut bangs away from her burning amber eyes. "From what we've been through and seen over the years, the Empire is just making things worse. Our so-called 'gracious' king was never there for us during the harsh winters when all of us nearly starved, and even then the Empire's tax collectors took the little money we managed to earn. Also, how do simple traders like _you_ know that the Varden has combined forces with the Urgals and are planning to attack us? How could you know without being apart of the Empire's military plans, or even the traitorous Varden itself? You know, I could say that the sky is green and clouds are blue, but that doesn't make it true... so, _prove_ to us that you aren't lying."

The two men glared at her while the villagers gaped and waited for the answer. The thin trader spoke first, avoiding Evangeline's burning gaze.

"Aren't your children taught respect?" he inquired. "Or do you let girls challenge men whenever they want to?"

"Oh, trust me, we're taught respect all right," Evangeline stated defiantly, glaring right back at him as she planted a hand on her hip. "However, we are _also_ taught to stand up for what we _believe_ in, and right now you're trying to change the beliefs of every single person in this room with your incredible stories. So, of course I'm going to speak up—even if it means challenging two grown men like you. _We_ define respect a bit _differently."_

The listeners stared at Evangeline in awe for a moment.

"She's right," a man finally called. "Answer the question."

"It's only common sense," the fat one said, sweat beginning to bead on his upper lip.

His reply riled the villagers, and the dispute resumed.

Evangeline returned to the bar with a bad taste in her mouth. She had never before met anyone who favored the Empire and tore down its enemies. There was a deep-set hatred of the Empire in Carvahall, almost hereditary in nature. Like she'd said, the Empire had never helped them during the harsh years when they'd nearly starved to death from the meager harvests, and its tax collectors were ruthless.

She felt justified in disagreeing with the traders regarding the king's mercy, but she _did_ speculate about the Varden.

The Varden were a rebel group that constantly raided and attacked the Empire. It was a mystery who their leader was or who had formed them in the years following Galbatorix's rise to power over a century ago. The group had garnered much sympathy as they eluded Galbatorix's efforts to destroy them. Little was known about the Varden except for the fact that if you were a fugitive in need of shelter, or if you hated the Empire, then they would accept you. The only problem was finding them.

Morn leaned over the bar.

"Evangeline Alexandria, you were incredible!" he exclaimed. "I think you just proved to those men that women have brains as _well_ as beauty."

"Uh, thanks," Evangeline murmured, blushing a little before she smiled and laughed. "Still, I don't really know if women originally _were_ the ones with no brains: those two would fit into that category better than anyone else I know."

"You're right," Morn chuckled. "They're worse than mindless vultures circling a dying animal. There's going to be trouble if they stay here much longer."

"For us or for them?" she inquired.

"Them," Morn stated with a shake of his head as angry voices suddenly filled the tavern.

Evangeline left when the argument threatened to become violent. The door thudded shut behind her, cutting off the yelling and shouting. Evangeline closed her eyes and breathed in the refreshingly cold air. It was early evening, and the sun was sinking rapidly; the houses cast long shadows on the ground. As Evangeline headed down the street, she noticed Roran and Katrina standing in an alley. Roran said something Evangeline couldn't hear, and Katrina looked down at her hands, blushing fiercely, before answered in an undertone. Then she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him before darting away. Evangeline trotted over to Roran with an amused smirk gracing her lips.

"Having a good time?" she teased, giggling quietly

Roran grunted noncommittally as he paced away.

"Have you heard the traders' news?" Evangeline asked, following him. Most of the villagers were indoors, talking to traders or waiting until it was dark enough for the troubadours to perform.

"Yes," Roran seemed distracted. "Evie, what do you think of Sloan?"

"Sloan?" Evangeline inquired, blinking in surprise before frowning skeptically. "Well, I've forgiven him for calling me all those vile names when I was only five years old, if that's what you mean. He doesn't like me very much for some reason."

"There'll be blood between us when he finds out about Kat and me," Roran murmured. Evangeline could think of nothing that could comfort her cousin because she knew he was right. She locked arms with him and leaned her head against his shoulder as they continued down the byway. A snowflake landed on the girl's nose as she did so, and she looked up; the sky had turned gray.

Dinner at Horst's was hearty, and the room was full of conversation and laughter. Sweet cordials and heavy ales were consumed in copious amounts, adding to the boisterous atmosphere. However, when the plates were empty, Horst's guests left the house and strolled to the field where the traders were camped. A ring of poles topped with candles had been stuck into the ground around a large clearing. Bonfires blazed in the background, painting the ground with dancing shadows. The villagers slowly gathered around the circle and waited expectantly in the cold.

The troubadours soon tumbled out of their tents, dressed in tasseled clothing, followed by older and stately minstrels. The minstrels provided music and narration as their younger counterparts acted out the stories. The first plays were pure entertainment: bawdy and full of jokes, pratfalls, and ridiculous characters. Later, however, when the candles sputtered in their sockets and everyone was drawn together into a tight circle, the old storyteller Brom stepped forward. His clean-shaven face seemed more aged than usual, and a long black cape was wrapped around his broad shoulders, obscuring his body. He spread his arms with hands that reach out like talons and recited thus:

_"The sands of time cannot be stopped. Years will pass whether we will them to or not… but we can remember the years that go by. What has been lost forever may yet live on in our memories. That which you will hear is imperfect and fragmented, yet treasure it. For without you, this piece of our history does not exist. I give you now a memory that has been forgotten, hidden in the dreamy haze that lies behind us."_

His keen brown eyes inspected their interested faces, but for some reason his gaze lingered on Evangeline's longest and last of all.

_"Before your grandfathers' fathers were born, and yea, even before their fathers, the Dragon Rider's were formed. To protect and guard was their mission, and for thousands of years they succeeded. Their prowess in battle was unmatched, for each had the strength of fifty men. They were immortal unless blade or poison took them. For good purposes only were their powers used, and under their tutelage tall cities and towers were built out of the living stone. While they kept peace, the land flourished. It was a golden time. The elves were our allies, the dwarves our friends. Wealth flowed into our cities, and men prospered. But weep… for it could not last."_

Brom looked down silently. Undying sadness resonated in his voice when he spoke again.

_"Though no enemy could destroy them, they could not guard against themselves. It came to pass that at the height of their power that a boy, Galbatorix by name, was born in the province of Inzilbêth, a city which was destroyed years ago. At ten he was tested, as was the custom, and it was found that great power resided in him. The Riders accepted him as one of their own._

_"Through their training he passed, exceeding all others in skill. Gifted with a sharp mind and a strong body, he quickly took his place among the Riders' ranks. Some saw his abrupt rise as dangerous, and warned the others, but the Riders had grown arrogant in their power and ignored caution. Alas, sorrow was conceived that day._

_"So it was soon after his training was finished, Galbatorix took a reckless trip with two friends. Far north they flew, night and day, passing into the Urgals' remaining territory, foolishly thinking their new powers would protect them. There on a thick sheet of ice, thick even in the summer, they were ambushed in their sleep. Though his friends and their dragons were butchered and he suffered great injuries, Galbatorix slew his attackers. Tragically, during the fight a stray arrow pierced his dragon's heart. Without the arts to save her, she died in his arms. Then were the seeds of madness planted."_

The man clasped his hands together and looked around slowly, shadows flickering across his worn face.

The next words came like a mournful toll of a requiem.

_"Alone, bereft of much his strength and half insane with loss, Galbatorix wandered without hope in that desolate land, seeking death. It did not come to him, though he threw himself without fear against any living thing. Urgals and other monsters soon fled from his haunted form. During this time he came to realize that the Riders might grant him another dragon. Driven by this thought, he began the arduous journey, on foot, back through the Spine. Territory he had soared effortlessly on a dragon's back now took him months to traverse. He could hunt with magic, but he often walked in places where animals did not travel. When his feet finally left the mountains, he was close to death. A farmer found him collapsed on the side of an infrequently traveled road and summoned the Riders._

_"Unconscious, he was taken to their holdings and his body healed. He slept for seven days. Upon awakening, he gave no sign of his fevered mind. When he was brought before a council convened to judge him, Galbatorix demanded another dragon. The desperation of the request revealed his dementia, and the council saw him for what he truly was. Denied his hope, Galbatorix—through the twisted mirror of his madness—came to believe that it was the Riders' fault his dragon had died. Night after night he brooded on that thought and formed a plan to exact revenge."_

Brom's words dropped to a mesmerizing whisper.

_"He found a sympathetic young Rider, and there his insidious words took root. By persistent reasoning and the use of dark secrets learned from a Shade, he inflamed the Rider against their elders. Together they treacherously lured and killed an elder, but when the foul deed was done, Galbatorix suddenly turned on his ally and slew her without warning. The Riders found him then, with the girl's blood dripping from his hands. A scream tore from his lips, and he fled into the night. As he was cunning in his madness, they could not find him. For years, he hid in wastelands like a hunted animal, always watching for his pursuers. His atrocity was not forgotten, but over time the searches ceased. Then through some ill fortune he met another young Rider, Morzan—strong of body, but weak of mind. Galbatorix convinced Morzan to leave a gate unlocked in the citadel of Ilirea, which is now called Urû'baen. _

_"Through this gate Galbatorix entered and stole a dragon hatchling._

_"He and his new disciple hid themselves in an evil place where the Riders dared not venture. There Morzan entered into a dark apprenticeship, learning secrets and forbidden magic that should never have been revealed. When his instruction was finished and Galbatorix's black dragon, Shruikan, was fully grown, Galbatorix revealed himself to the world with Morzan at his side. Together they fought any Rider they met, young and old, male and female. With each kill their strength grew. Twelve of the Riders joined Galbatorix out of desire for power and revenge against perceived wrongs. Those twelve, with Morzan, became the Thirteen Forsworn. The Riders were unprepared and fell beneath the onslaught. The elves, too, fought bitterly against Galbatorix, but they were overthrown and forced to flee to their secret places, from whence they come no more._

_"Only Vrael, leader of the Riders, could resist Galbatorix and the Forsworn. Ancient and wise, he struggled to save what he could and keep the remaining dragons from falling to his enemies. In the last battle, before the gates of Dorú Areaba, Vrael defeated Galbatorix, but hesitated with the final blow. Galbatorix seized the opportunity and smote him in the side. Grievously wounded, Vrael fled to Utgard Mountain, where he hoped to gather strength. It was not to be. Galbatorix found him, and as they fought, he kicked Vrael in the fork of the legs. With that underhanded blow, he gained dominance over Vrael and removed his head with a blazing sword._

_"Then, as power rushed through his veins, Galbatorix anointed himself king over all of Alagaësia. And from that day, he has ruled us."_

With the completion of the story, Brom shuffled away with the troubadours. Evangeline watched him go, and for a moment she thought she saw a tear shining on his cheek. People murmured quietly to each other as they departed. As they were leaving, Garrow turned to Evangeline and Roran.

"Both of you are very fortunate," he stated in awe, which surprised his niece and his son. "I have heard this tale only twice in my life. If the Empire knew that Brom had recited it, he would not live to see a new month."


	4. Chapter 3: Fate's Gift

**Chapter Three: Fate's Gift**

The evening after their return from Carvahall, Evangeline decided to test the stone as Merlock had. Alone in her room, the girl set it on her bed and laid three of her uncle's tools next to it before plopping herself down and folding her legs. She started with a wooden mallet and lightly tapped the stone; it produced a subtle ringing. Satisfied, she picked up the next tool, a heavy leather hammer; a mournful peal reverberated when it struck. Lastly, she pounded a small chisel against it; the metal didn't chip or scratch the stone, but it produced the clearest sound yet.

However, as the final note died away she thought she heard a faint squeak.

_Merlock said that the stone was hollow,_ Evangeline thought silently._ Could there be something of value inside? Even if there is, I don't know how to open it. There must have been a good reason for someone to shape it, but whoever sent the stone into the Spine hasn't taken the trouble to retrieve it, or doesn't know where it is. I don't think that a magician with enough power to transport the stone wouldn't be able to find it again, though. So was I meant to have it?_

She couldn't answer any of the questions whirling around inside her mind. Resigned to an unsolvable mystery, she picked up the tools and returned the stone to its shelf. That night she was abruptly roused from her sleep; she listened carefully, but everything was silent. Feeling uneasy, she slid her hand under the mattress and grasped her knife. She waited a few minutes before her eyes unwillingly closed and she slowly sank back to sleep.

A squeak pierced the silence, tearing her back to wakefulness.

She rolled out of bed and yanked the knife from its sheath. After fumbling with a tinderbox, she lit a candle and glanced around with sleepy eyes. She felt a little alarmed when she saw that the door to her room was closed. Although the squeak had been much too loud for a mouse or a rat, she still checked under the bed-frame: nothing was there. However, as she sat on the edge of her mattress and sleepily rubbed her half-lidded eyes, another squeak suddenly filled the air and she jumped nearly a foot in the air.

_Where is the noise coming from?!_ she wondered silently, glancing around wildly. _Nothing can be in the floor or walls; they're made of solid wood! The same goes for my bed, and I definitely would have noticed if anything had crawled into my mattress during the night._

Her eyes settled on the stone and she took it off the shelf, absently cradling it as she studied the room. A squeak rang in her ears and reverberated through her fingers; the sound was coming from the stone. The rock she'd found had given her nothing but frustration and anger, and now it wouldn't even let her sleep! It ignored her furious amber-eyed glare and sat solidly, occasionally peeping. Then it gave one very loud squeak and fell silent. Evangeline warily put it away and got back under the sheets. Whatever secret the stone held, it would have to wait until morning.

The moon was shining through her window when she woke up again. The stone was rocking rapidly on the shelf and knocking against the wall. It was bathed in cool moonlight that bleached its surface. Evangeline jumped out of bed, knife in hand; the motion stopped, but she remained tense. Then the stone started squeaking and began rocking again, much faster this time. With a quiet curse, she hurriedly began dressing: she didn't care how valuable the stone might be; she was going to take it far away and bury it. The rocking stopped; the stone became quiet.

Suddenly it quivered, then rolled onto the floor with a loud thump. She retreated backward in alarm as the stone wobbled towards her.

A crack appeared in the surface of the stone, then another; and another.

Transfixed, Evangeline leaned forward, still holding the knife. At the top of the stone, where all the cracks met, a small piece wobbled as if it were balanced on something. Then it rose and toppled to the floor. After another series of squeaks, a small dark head poked out of the hole, followed by a weirdly angled body. Evangeline's breath hitched in her throat, and she gripped the knife tighter as she slowly backed away. Soon the creature was all the way out of the stone. It stayed in place for a moment, and then skittered into the moonlight. Evangeline nearly collapsed from the shock of what she saw: standing in front of her, licking off the membrane that encased it, was a dragon. It was no longer than her forearm, yet it was dignified and noble. Its scales were a rippling silver, the same color as the stone it had resided in until that moment.

_It wasn't a stone,_ she realized with a jolt of unrealistic awe. _It was an egg! I found a dragon's egg in the spine!_

The dragon fanned its wings; they were what had made it appear so contorted. The wings were several times longer than its body and ribbed with thin fingers of bone that extended from the wing's front edge, forming a line of widely spaced talons. The dragon's head was roughly triangular, and two diminutive white fangs curved down out of its upper jaw. They looked dangerously sharp. It's claws were also white, similar to polished ivory, and slightly serrated on the inside curve. A line of small spikes ran down the creature's spine from the base of its head to the tip of its tail. A hollow where its neck and shoulders joined created a larger-than-normal gap between the spikes.

Evangeline shifted slightly, and the dragon's head snapped around; hard, silvery eyes fixed on her, making the girl freeze. She knew that it could be a formidable enemy if it decided to attack. However, the dragon lost interest in Evangeline and awkwardly explored the room, squealing as it bumped into a wall or furniture. With a flutter of wings, it leapt onto the bed and crawled to her pillow, squeaking. It's mouth was open pitifully, like a young bird's, displaying rows of pointed teeth. Evangeline sat cautiously on the end of the bed, tucking strands of her loose brown hair behind her ears.

The dragon smelled her hand and nibbled at her sleeve.

She pulled her arm back, but a smile unwillingly touched her lips and lit up her eyes as she gazed at the small creature. Timidly, she reached out with her right hand and touched its flank—and that's where every event of the past few days converged, and the world changed forever.

A ringing noise suddenly filled her ears, and an explosion of icy energy surged into her hand and raced up her arm, flowing throughout her body and burning in her veins like liquid fire. She fell backward with a wild cry of pain, twisting as she fell off the bed and slamming sideways onto the wooden floor. Every part of her body seared with agony as she lay facedown on the floor. She struggled to move, but found that she was paralyzed.

A litany of soundless words echoed throughout her mind as she opened her eyes and glanced around in terror.

_Only She can stem the tide of power,_  
_And face the Darkness in the Forbidden Tower._  
_She must use her Gifts in order to survive,_  
_But must not trust anyone, or everyone will die._  
_A member of her family will betray us all,_  
_and will finally submit to his Dark Master's call._  
_If the Champion fails, white water will run red...  
and every bird, bug, beast, plant, and human will soon be dead._

After what seemed like hours of motionless crying, warmth began seeping back into her limbs, leaving them tingling. Shivering uncontrollably, she weakly struggled to push herself upright: her hand was numb, and her fingers were completely paralyzed. Alarmed, she watched as a shimmering white streak spiraled out of a diffused white oval in the middle of her palm and made its way up her arm. She tore at her sleeve, then frantically ripped off her shirt: the mark was winding around her lower neck and down her back, her chest, and her stomach. It stopped advancing just before it reached her waist. The skin itched and burned like a spider bite in the places where the mark had appeared, and her heart pounded frantically.

Evangeline Alexandria blinked rapidly, trying to understand what had occurred; something suddenly brushed against her consciousness, like a cool finger trailing over her skin. She felt it again, but this time it solidified into a tendril of thought through which she could feel a growing curiosity. It was as if an invisible wall surrounding her thoughts had fallen away, and she was now free to reach out with her mind. She was afraid that without anything to hold her back, she would float out of her body and be unable to return, thus becoming a spirit of the ether. Frightened, she pulled away from the contact. The new sense vanished as if she had closed her eyes. She stared at the motionless dragon with frightened eyes.

A scaly leg scarped against her side and she jerked back, but the energy didn't shock her this time. Puzzled, she rubbed the dragon's head with her right hand; a light tingling ran up her arm. The dragon nuzzled her, arching its back like a cat. She lightly brushed her fingers over its thin wing membranes. They felt like old parchment, velvety and warm, yet still slightly damp. Hundreds of slender veins pulsed through them. Again the tendril touched her mind, but this time—instead of curiosity—she sensed an overpowering ravenous hunger. She got up with a sigh. This was a dangerous animal, of that she was sure—yet it seemed so helpless crawling on her bed, she could only wonder if there was any harm in keeping it.

The dragon wailed in a reedy tone as it looked for food. Evangeline scratched its head to keep it quiet.

_I'll think about this later,_ she decided, and left the room, carefully closing the door behind her.

Returning with two strips of dried meat, she found the dragon sitting on the windowsill, watching the moon. The sight stirred her heart, and she smiled. She cut the meat into small squares and offered one to the dragon. It smelled the square cautiously, then jabbed its head forward like a snake and snatched the meat from her fingers, swallowing it whole with a peculiar jerk. Then the dragon prodded Evangeline's hand for more food. By the time there was only one square left, the dragon's belly was bulging. She proffered the last piece; the dragon considered it for a moment, and then lazily snapped it up. Done eating, it crawled onto her arm and curled against her breast; it snorted, a puff of dark smoke rising from its nostrils.

Evangeline looked at it with wonder. Just when she thought that the dragon had fallen asleep, a low humming came from its vibrating throat. Gently, she carried it to the bed and set it by her pillow. The dragon, eyes closed, wrapped its tail around the bedpost contentedly. Evangeline—feeling terribly dazed—lay down next to it, flexing her numb hand in the near darkness.

She faced a terrible dilemma: by raising a dragon, she could become a Rider.

Myths and stories about Riders were treasured, and being one would automatically place her among those legends. However, if the Empire discovered the dragon, she and her family would be put to death unless she joined the king. No one could—or would—help them. The simplest solution would be to kill the dragon, but the idea was repulsive, and she refused to even consider it.

_Besides, what could betray us? We live in a remote area and have done nothing to draw attention to ourselves,_ she thought with a small sigh. The only problem was convincing Garrow and Roran to let her keep the dragon. Neither of them would care to have a dragon around. _I could raise it in secret. In a month or two it will be too large for Garrow to get rid of, but will he accept it? Even if he does, can I get enough food for the dragon while it's hiding? It's no larger than a small cat, but it ate an entire handful of meat! I suppose it will be able to hunt for itself eventually, but how long until then? Will it be able to survive the cold outside? _

Even as these questions filled her head, she already knew what her decision was going to be. She wanted the dragon, and the more she thought about it, the more she knew she was going to keep it. However things might work out with Garrow, Evangeline would do everything in her power to protect it. Determined yet happy, she fell asleep with the dragon cradled against her.

When dawn came, the dragon was sitting atop her bedpost watching the sunrise, like an ancient sentinel welcoming a new day. Evangeline marveled at its color with appreciative eyes: she had never seen such a clear, hard silver... its scales shimmered like hundreds of small diamonds. However, then she noticed that the mark on her body had a silvery sheen to it. Hiding the part of the mark that spiraled around her upper torso would be easy enough of a task; the part spiraling around her right arm and radiating from the oval on her palm might prove to be a bit more difficult.

She hoped that she could hide it by keeping her hands dirty.

The dragon launched off the post and glided to the floor. Evangeline gingerly picked it up and left the quiet house, pausing to grab some meat, several strips of leather, and as many rags as she could carry. The crisp morning was beautiful; a fresh layer of snow covered the farm. She smiled as the small creature looked around with interest from the safety of her arms. Hurrying across the fields, she walked silently into the dark forest, searching for a safe place for the dragon to stay. Eventually she found a rowan tree standing alone on a barren knoll, its branches like snow-tipped gray fingers that reached toward the sky. She set the dragon down by the base of the trunk and shook the leather onto the ground.

With a few deft movements, she made a noose and slipped it over the dragon's head as it explored the snowy clumps surrounding the tree. The leather was worn, but it would hold. She watched the dragon crawl around for a moment, then untied the noose from its neck and fashioned a makeshift harness for its legs so the dragon wouldn't strangle itself. Next she gathered an armful of sticks and built a crude hut high in the branches, layering the inside with rags and stashing the meat. Snow fell on her face as the tree swayed. She hung more rags over the front of the shelter to keep the heat inside. Pleased, she surveyed her work.

"Time to show you your new home," she said, and lifted the dragon up into the branches. It wriggled, trying to get free, then clambered into the hut—where it ate a piece of meat, curled up, and blinked coyly at her. "You'll be fine as long as you stay in here until I get back."

The dragon blinked again. Unsure that it had understood her, Evangeline groped with her mind until she felt the dragon's consciousness. Again she had the horrible feeling of openness—of a space so large that it pressed down on her like a heavy blanket. Summoning her strength, she focused on the dragon and tried to impress on it one idea.

_Stay here._

The dragon stopped moving and cocked its head at her, so she tried harder.

_Stay here. _

A dim acknowledgement came tentatively through the link, but Evangeline wondered whether it had really understood. She retreated from the contact with relief and felt the safety of her own mind envelop her. Eve left the tree, casting longing glances backward: she wanted to stay so badly, but she had chores. The dragon watched with large eyes as she left.

After a hurried walk home, she sneaked back into her room to dispose of the egg fragments. She was sure that Garrow and Roran wouldn't notice the egg's absence—it had faded from their thoughts after they learned it could not be sold. When her family got up, Roran mentioned that he had heard some noises during the night but—to Evangeline's immense relief—didn't pursue the issue. Evangeline's enthusiasm made the day go by quickly. The mark on her body actually proved easier to hide than she'd first believed, so she soon stopped worrying about it. Before long she headed back to the rowan, carrying sausages that she had pilfered from the cellar.

With apprehension, she approached the tree.

_Is the dragon going to be able to survive outside in the winter?_ she wondered worriedly, feeling an odd pang of anxiety for the creature.

Her fears were groundless: the dragon was perched on a branch, gnawing on something between its front legs. It started squeaking excitedly when it saw her. She was pleased to see that it had remained in the tree, above the reach of large predators. As soon as she dropped the sausages at the base of the trunk, the dragon glided down. While it voraciously tore apart the food, Evangeline examined the shelter. All the meat she'd left for the dragon was gone, but the hut was intact, and tufts of feathers littered the floor.

_That's good,_ she thought with a grin. _It can get its own food._

It suddenly struck her that she didn't know if the dragon was a male or female, but after a moment of thought she decided she would have to wait in order to find out; she didn't think it would give up any secrets without a struggle, and besides—it was rude to pry. Feeling adventurous and somehow... oddly _maternal_ for a fifteen-year-old girl, Evangeline untied the dragon, set it on her shoulder, and went to explore the woods. The snow-laden trees watched over them like solemn pillars of a great cathedral. In that isolation, Evangeline showed the dragon what she knew about the forest, not caring a bit if it understood her meaning. It was the simple act of sharing that mattered to her, and she talked to it continuously.

The dragon gazed back at her with bright, expressive eyes that—somewhat disturbingly—somehow matched her own, aside from the different color and the slit-pupil. It drank in every word she spoke. For a while, Evangeline just sat with it resting in her arms and watched it with loving wonder, still stunned by recent events. Evangeline started for home at sunset, conscious of two silver eyes drilling into her back, indignant at being left behind.

That night she worried about all the things that could happen to a small and unprotected animal.

Thoughts of ice storms and vicious animals tormented her, and it took hours for her to fall asleep. Her dreams were nightmares of foxes and wolves tearing at the dragon with bloody teeth. In the sunrise glow, Evangeline ran from the house wearing only her night-clothes. Her feet were cut by the ice and hard-packed snow as she ran to the rowan, but the girl didn't care. When she found the dragon watching the sunrise from the tree, awake and safe, Evangeline was so relieved that she almost fell over.

She fervently thanked all the gods, known and unknown, before she burst into tears of sheer exaltation.

The dragon glided down to the ground and leapt into her welcoming arms, huddling close to her chest as she fell to her knees. The cold had not harmed it, yet it seemed frightened. A puff of dark smoke blew out of its nostrils. She stroked it comfortingly and sat with her back to the rowan, murmuring softly as she wiped her tears away with a sleeve. She kept still as the dragon buried its head in her shirt, but after a while it crawled out of her embrace and onto her shoulder. She went back to the house for more insulation and food, fed the dragon, and wrapped the new rags around the hut. They played together for a time, but Evangeline had to return to the house before long.

A smooth routine was quickly established: every morning, Evangeline ran out to the tree and gave the dragon breakfast before hurrying back. During the day, she attacked her chores until they were finished and she could visit the dragon again. Both Garrow and Roran noticed her unusual behavior and asked why she spent so much time outside.

"You boys know me," she always replied, giving a shrug. "I like being outside, that's all."

However, she started checking to make sure she wasn't followed to the tree after that.

After the first few days she stopped worrying that a mishap would befall the dragon. It's growth was explosive; it would soon be safe from most dangers. The dragon doubled in size in the first week. Four days later it was as high as her knee. It could no longer fit inside the hut up in the rowan, so Evangeline was forced to build a hidden shelter on the ground. The task took her three days.

When the dragon was a fortnight old, Evangeline was compelled to let it roam free because it needed so much food. The first time she untied it, only the force of her will kept it from following her back to the farm. Every time it tried, she pushed it away with her mind until it learned to avoid the house and its other inhabitants. She also impressed on the dragon the importance of hunting only in the Spine, where there was less chance of being seen.

Farmers would notice if livestock started disappearing from Palancar Valley.

It made her feel both safer and uneasy when the dragon was so far away.

The mental contact she shared with the dragon waxed stronger with each day that passed. She found that although it did not comprehend words, she could communicate with it through images or emotions. It was an imprecise method, however, and she was often misunderstood. The range at which they could touch each other's thoughts expanded rapidly, and soon Evangeline could contact the dragon anywhere within three leagues. She often did so, and the dragon, in turn, would lightly brush against her mind. These mute conversations filled her working hours. There was always a small part of her connected to the dragon, ignored at times, but never forgotten. When she talked with people, the contact was distracting.

Like a fly buzzing in her ear.

As the dragon matured, its squeaks deepened to a roar and the humming became a low rumble; yet the dragon did not breathe fire, which concerned her. She had seen it blow smoke when it was upset, but there was never a hint of flame. When the month ended, Evangeline's elbow was level with the dragon's shoulder. In that brief span, it had transformed from a small weak animal into a powerful beast. Its hard scales were as tough as chain-mail armor, and it's teeth were like daggers.

Evangeline took long walks in the evening with the dragon padding beside her. When they found a clearing, she would settle against a tree and watch the dragon soar through the air. She loved to see it fly, and she looked forward to the day when it would be big enough to ride. She often sat beside the dragon and rubbed its neck lovingly, feeling sinews and corded muscles flex under her hands.

Despite Evangeline's efforts, the forest around the farm filled with signs of the dragon's existence.

It was impossible to erase all of the huge four-clawed footprints sunk deep into the snow, and she refused to even go _near_ the giant dung heaps that were becoming far too common. The dragon had rubbed against trees, which stripped off the bark, and had sharpened its claws on dead logs, leaving gashes inches deep. If Garrow or Roran went too far beyond the farm's boundaries, they would discover the dragon. Evangeline could imagine no worse way for the truth to come out, so she decided to preempt it by explaining everything to them. She wanted to do two things first, though: give the dragon a suitable name, and learn more about dragons in general. To that end she needed to talk with Brom, master of epics and legends—the only places where dragon-lore survived. So when Roran went to get a chisel fixed, Evangeline volunteered to go with him.

The evening before they departed, Evangeline went to a small clearing in the forest and called the dragon with her mind.

After a moment, she saw a fast-moving speck in the dusky sky. The dragon dived toward her, pulled up sharply, and then leveled off above the trees. She heard a low-pitched whistle as air rushed over its wings. It banked slowly to her left and spiraled gently down to the ground. The dragon back-flapped for balance with a deep, muffled thwump as it landed.

Evangeline opened her mind, still uncomfortable with the strange sensation, and gently told the dragon that she was leaving. It snorted with unease. She attempted to soothe it with a calming mental image, but the dragon whipped its tail, unsatisfied. She rested her hand on its shoulder and let her love for the creature radiate from her touch. Scales moved under her fingers as she rubbed the dragon's neck gently.

A single word rang in her head, deep and clear.

_Evangeline._

It was solemn and sad, as if an unbreakable pact were being sealed. She looked at the dragon and a cold tingle ran up her arm before prickling its way around her torso—following the path of the mark.

_Evangeline._

Her heart began to race as unfathomable silver eyes gazed back at her. For the first time, she realized that the dragon wasn't simply a mere animal. It was something else, something… different. Evangeline slowly backed away, then turned around and ran towards her home, trying to escape the dragon—slender arms pumping and amber eyes wild with an inexplicable fear.

_My dragon…_ she whimpered silently to herself as she ran.

_Evangeline,_ the dragon said solemnly, seeming to agree with her.


	5. Chapter 4: A Name of Power

**Chapter Three: A Name of Power**

Roran and Evangeline parted at the outskirts of Carvahall; the small brunette walked slowly to Brom's house, engrossed in her thoughts. She stopped when she was at the doorstep and raised her hand to knock, but she was totally unprepared since her nerves were so frazzled.

"What do you want, girl?" a gruff voice barked.

Feeling startled, the tiny girl whirled around and saw Brom leaning on a twisted staff embellished with strange carvings. He wore a brown hooded robe like a friar. A pouch hung from the scuffed leather belt clasped around his waist. Above his lips, a proud eagle nose hooked over his mouth and dominated his face. He peered at Evangeline with deep-set amber eyes shadowed by bushy eyebrows as he waited for her reply.

"To get information," Evangeline murmured after a moment, rubbing her chest to clear away her evident fright at his appearance. "Roran was getting a chisel fixed and I had some free time, so I came to see if you could answer a few questions I've been having."

"You might as well come in; we'll be talking for a while since your questions never seem to end," the man grunted, reaching for the door. Evangeline noticed a gold ring on his right hand; light glinted off of a sapphire, highlighting a strange symbol carved on its face. Inside, the house was darker than charcoal, and an acrid smell hung heavily in the air. "Now, for a light."

"Okay," Evangeline murmured, listening as the old man move around.

"Hellfire!" he cursed as something crashed to the floor. "Ah, here we go."

A white spark flashed and a flame wavered into existence: Evangeline saw Brom standing with a candle before a stone fireplace. Stacks of books surrounded a high-backed wooden chair that faced the mantel; the four legs were shaped like eagle claws, the seat and back were padded with leather embossed with a swirling rose pattern. A cluster of lesser chairs held piles of scrolls; ink pots and pens were scattered across a writing desk.

"Make room for yourself, but by the lost kings, be careful," Brom instructed. "This stuff is valuable."

"Yessir," Evangeline replied instantly, carefully stepped over pages of parchment covered with angular runes. She gently lifted cracking scrolls off of a chair and placed them on the floor; a cloud of dust flew into the air as she sat, and she stifled a sneeze. Brom bent down and lit the fire with his candle.

"Good! Nothing like sitting by a fire for conversation. Now, what do you want?" he addressed Evangeline roughly, but not unkindly as he threw back his hood, revealing wavy but graying brown hair. He hung a kettle over the flames and settled into the high-backed chair.

"Well," Evangeline began timidly, wondering how best to approach the subject, "I keep hearing about Dragon Riders and their accomplishments. Almost everyone seems to want them to return, but I've never heard tell of how they were started, where the dragons came from, or what made the Riders special—aside from the dragons."

"A vast subject to tell about," Brom grumbled; he peered at Evangeline alertly. "If I told you their whole story, we would still be sitting here when winter comes again. It will have to be reduced to a manageable length. But before we start properly, I need my pipe."

Evangeline waited patiently as Brom tamped down the tobacco. Despite his grumpy nature, she loved the old man. Brom was irascible at times, but he never seemed to mind taking time for Evangeline. She had once asked him where he came from, but Brom had merely laughed.

_"A village much like Carvahall, only not quite as interesting,"_ he'd stated; curiosity aroused, Evangeline had asked her uncle, but Garrow could only tell her that Brom had bought a house in Carvahall nearly fifteen years ago and had lived there quietly ever since. Brom used a tinderbox to light the pipe. He puffed a few times, and then grunted in approval.

"There…" he muttered, leaning back in his chair. "we won't have to stop now, except for the tea. Now, about the Riders, or the _Shur'tugal_, as they are called by the elves... where to start? They spanned countless years and, at the height of their power, held sway over twice the Empire's lands. Numerous stories have been told about them, mostly nonsense. If you believed everything said, you would expect them to have the powers of a lesser god. Scholars have devoted entire lives to separating these fictions from fact, but it is doubtful that any of them will succeed. However, it isn't an impossible task if we confine ourselves to the three areas you specified: how the Riders began, why they were so highly regarded, and where the dragons came from. I shall start with the last item."

Evangeline settled back and listened to the man's mesmerizing voice.

"Dragons have no beginning, unless it lies with the creation of Alagaësia itself," Brom murmured, "and if they have an end, it will be when this world perishes, for they suffer as the land does. They, the dwarves, and a few others are the true inhabitants of this land. They lived here before all others, strong and proud in their elemental glory. Their world was unchanging until the first elves sailed over the sea on their silver ships."

"Where did the elves come from?" Evangeline suddenly asked, cocking her head to the side as her amber eyes brightened in childish curiosity. "Why are they called the fair folk? Do they really exist?"

"Evangeline," Brom muttered with a scowl, "do you want your original questions answered or not? They won't be if you want to explore every obscure piece of knowledge."

"Sorry," the girl murmured, meekly dipping her head.

"No, you're not," Brom snorted with a look of amusement; he shifted his gaze to the fire and watched it lick the underside of the kettle. "If you must know, elves are not legends, and they are called the fair folk because they are more graceful than any of the other races. They come from what they call _Alalea,_ though no one but they know what, or even where, it is."

"Sounds like a pretty name," Evangeline murmured, cocking her head. _"Alalea..."_

"Now," he glared from under his bushy eyebrows to make sure there would be no more interruptions, "the elves were a proud race then, and extremely strong in magic. At first they regarded dragons as mere animals. From their belief rose a deadly mistake. A brash elven youth hunted down a dragon, as he would a stag, and killed it. Outraged, the dragons ambushed and slaughtered the elf. Unfortunately, the bloodletting did not stop there. The dragons massed together and attacked the entire elven nation. Dismayed by the terrible misunderstanding, the elves tried to end the hostilities, but couldn't find a way to communicate with the dragons."

"Really?" the girl asked, blinking in surprise.

"Yes... so, to greatly abbreviate a complicated series of occurrences, there was a very long and very bloody war," Brom replied, looking at her with skeptical eyes. "A war which both sides later regretted. At the beginning the elves fought only to defend themselves, for they were reluctant to escalate the fighting; but the dragons' ferocity eventually forced them to attack for their own survival. This lasted for five years and would have continued for much longer if an elf named Evangeline hadn't found a dragon egg."

"Eh?" Evangeline asked, blinking in surprise.

"Ah, I see you didn't know of your namesake," Brom murmured in amusement.

"No," the girl droned, staring at the ground as the teakettle whistled stridently. _Why was I named after an elf?_

"Then you should find this all the more interesting," Brom stated, hooking the kettle out of the fire and pouring the boiling water into two cups. Handing one to Evangeline, he warned, "These leaves don't need to steep long, so drink it quickly before it gets too strong."

Evangeline tried a sip, but scalded her tongue; Brom set his own cup aside and continued smoking his pipe.

"No one knows why that egg was abandoned. Some say that the parents were killed in an elven attack; others believe the dragons purposely left it there. Either way, Evangeline saw the value of raising a friendly dragon. She cared for it secretly and, on the custom of the ancient language, named him _Bid'Daum_. When _Bid'Daum_ had grown to a good size, they traveled together among the dragons and convinced them to live in peace with the elves. Treaties were formed between the two races. To ensure that war would never break out again, they decided it was necessary to establish the Riders. At first, the Riders were intended merely as a means of communication between the elves and dragons. However, as time passed, their worth was recognized and they were given ever more authority. Eventually they took the island of _Vroengard_ for their home and built a city on it—_Dorú Areaba_. Before Galbatorix overthrew them, the Riders held more power than the kings in Alagaësia. I believe I have answered two of your questions."

"Yes, you have," Evangeline replied absently. It seemed to be an incredible coincidence that she had been named after the first Rider. For some reason, her name didn't feel the same anymore. "What does Evangeline mean?"

"I don't know," Brom replied. "It's very old, a name that dates back to the times of machines that flew without the aid of magic or dragons, and metal buildings that touched the sky. I doubt anyone remembers except the elves, and fortune would have to smile greatly before you talked with one. It is a good name to have, though; you should be proud of it. Not many women have one so honorable."

Evangeline brushed the matter from her mind and focused on what she had learned from Brom; there was something missing.

"I don't understand something," she finally grumbled, clutching her hair in dismay. "Where were we when the Riders were created?"

"We?" Brom inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"You know, all of us." Evangeline waved her hands vaguely. "Humans in general."

"We are no more native to this land than the elves," Brom laughed. "It took another three centuries to arrive here and join the Riders."

"That can't be," Evangeline protested. "We've always lived in Palancar Valley."

"That might be true for a few generations, but beyond that, no... it isn't even true for you, Evangeline," Brom said gently. "Though you consider yourself to be a part of Garrow's family—and rightly so—your sire was not from here. Ask around and you'll find many people who haven't been here that long. This valley is old and hasn't always belonged to us."

Evangeline frowned and took a drink of the tea; it was still hot enough to burn her throat.

This was her home, regardless of who her father was!

"What happened to the dwarves after the Riders were destroyed?" she inquired after a moment of thought.

"No one really knows. They fought with the riders through the first few battles, but when it became clear that Galbatorix was going to win, they sealed all known entrances to their tunnels and disappeared underground. As far as I know, not one has been seen since then."

"And the dragons?" she asked. "What of them? Surely they weren't all killed."

"That is the greatest mystery of all in Alagaësia nowadays: how many dragons survived Galbatorix's murderous slaughter?" Brom answered sorrowfully. "He spared those who agreed to serve him, but only the twisted dragons of the Forsworn would assist his madness. If any dragons aside from Shruikan are still alive, they have hidden themselves so they will never be found by the Empire."

_Then… where did my dragon come from?_ Evangeline wondered silently, mentally scratching her head in confusion.

"Were the Urgals here when the elves came to Alagaësia?" she quipped.

"No, they followed the elves across the sea, like ticks seeking blood. They were one of the reasons the Riders became valued for their battle prowess and ability to keep the peace… much can be learned from this history. It's a pity the king makes it a delicate subject," Brom reflected.

"Yes, I heard your story the last time I was in town," she mumbled.

"Story!" Brom roared, lightning flashing in his eyes. "If it is a story, then the rumors of my death are true and you are speaking with a ghost! Respect the past; you never know how it may affect you."

Evangeline cautiously waited until Brom's face mellowed before she dared to speak.

"How big were the dragons?" she asked.

A dark plume of smoke swirled above Brom like a miniature thunderstorm.

"Larger than a house," he replied. "Even the smallest ones had wingspans over a hundred feet; they never stopped growing. Some of the ancient ones, before the Empire killed them, could have passed for large hills."

Fear immediately swept through Evangeline's chest.

_How can I hide my dragon in the years to come?_ Her mind was frantic, but she kept her voice calm when she asked, "When did they mature?"

"Well," Brom pondered, scratching his chin before he blew a smoke ring and watched it float up to the ceiling, "they couldn't breathe fire until they were around five to six months old, which was about when they could mate. The older a dragon was, the longer it could breathe fire. Some of them could keep at it for minutes."

"I've heard that their scales shone like gems," the girl murmured, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear

"You heard right," Brom growled, leaning forward with a bright look in his eyes. "They came in every color and shade: it was said that a group of them looked like a living rainbow, constantly shifting and shimmering... but who told you that?"

"U-um," Evangeline squeaked, freezing for a second before she lied, "a t-trader."

"What was his name?" Brom asked: his tangled eyebrows met in a thick gray line and the wrinkles on his forehead deepened.

Unnoticed, the pipe smoldered out.

Evangeline pretended to think.

"I don't know," she finally explained. "He was talking in Morn's, but I never found out who he was."

"I wish you had," Brom muttered.

"He also said a Rider could hear his dragon's thoughts," Evangeline added quickly, praying that the fictitious trader would protect her from suspicion. Brom's eyes immediately narrowed, but then he took out a tinderbox and struck the flint. Smoke rose, and he took a long pull from the pipe.

"He was wrong," he stated in a flat voice. "It isn't in any of the stories, and I know them all. Did he say anything else?"

"No," Evangeline shook her head: Brom was too interested in the trader for her to continue the falsehood, so she changed the topic by asking, "Did dragons live very long?"

Brom didn't respond at once; his chin sank to his chest while his fingers tapped the pipe thoughtfully, light reflecting off of his ring.

"Sorry, my mind was elsewhere," he murmured. "Yes, dragons live for quite a while. Forever, in fact, as long as it isn't killed and its Rider doesn't die."

"How is that possible?" Evangeline asked with a frown. "If dragons die when their Rider's do, they would only live to be sixty or seventy. You said during your… narration, that Riders lived for hundreds of years, but that's impossible."

The thought of outliving her family and friends disturbed her greatly.

"What is possible is subjective. Some would say that grown men cannot travel through the Spine and live, yet you do. It's a matter of perspective... but, you must be very wise to know so much at such a young age," Brom said slyly as quiet smile curled his lips; Evangeline blushed scarlet, and the old man chuckled. "Don't be angry; you can't be expected to know such things. You forget that the dragons were magical—they affected everything around them in strange ways. The Riders were closest to them and experienced this the most. The most common side effect was an extended life. Our king has lived long enough to make that apparent, but most people attribute it to his own magical abilities. There were also other, less noticeable changes. All of the Riders were stronger of body, keener of mind, and truer of sight than normal men and women. Along with this, a human Rider would slowly acquire long upper and lower fangs as well as pointed ears... although they were never as prominent as an elf's."

Evangeline's hand twitched and she had to stop it from reaching up to feel the tips of her teeth and ears.

_How else will my dragon change my life? _the girl wondered._ Not only is it altering my mind, but it's changing my body as well…_

"How intelligent were the dragons?" she asked, feeling a little disturbed.

"Didn't you pay attention to what I told you earlier?" Brom demanded. "How could the elves form agreements and peace treaties with dumb brutes? They were intelligent as you or I."

"So, they weren't animals?" Evangeline pressed, checking to be sure on this particular point.

"They were no more animals than we are." Brom snorted. "For some reason, people praise everything the Riders did, yet they ignore the dragons, assuming that they were nothing more than an exotic means to get from one town to another. They weren't. The Riders' great deeds were only possible because of the dragons. Tell me, how many men would draw their swords if they knew that a giant fire-breathing lizard—one with more natural cunning and wisdom than a king could ever hope for—would soon be there to stop the violence? Hmm?"

He blew another smoke ring and watched it waft away.

"Did you ever see one?" she asked.

"Nay," Brom said, "it was long before my time."

_Now for a name, _the girl thought silently

"I've been trying to recall the name of a certain dragon, but it keeps eluding me," Evangeline sighed, trying to look baffled. "I think I heard it when the traders were in Carvahall, but I'm not sure. Could you help me?"

Brom shrugged and quickly listed a stream of names.

"There was Jura, Hírador, and Fundor—who fought the giant sea serpent. Galzra, Briam the Strong, Gretium, Beroan, Rosariella the Wise…" He added many others, but at the very end, he uttered so softly that Evangeline almost didn't hear, "and Saphira the Loving. Was it any of those?"

"I'm afraid not," Evangeline sighed as Brom quietly emptied his pipe; the man had given her much to think about, and it was getting late. "Well, Roran's probably finished with Horst. I should get back, though I'd rather not."

"What? That's all?" Brom inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I expected to be answering your questions until he came looking for you. No queries about dragon battle tactics or requests for descriptions of breathtaking aerial combat? No stories about romances or knights in shining armor rescuing damsels in distress? Are we done?"

"For now, at least," Evangeline laughed, standing up. "I learned what I wanted to and more."

"Very well, then." Brom replied, standing up as well before ushering Evangeline to the door. "Goodbye. Take care. And don't forget, if you remember who that trader was, tell me."

"I will, and thank you." Evangeline called, waving at him before she stepped into the glaring winter sunlight. She squinted as the light temporarily blinded her, then slowly paced away, thinking about what she had learned. She met up with her cousin about ten minutes after leaving Brom's.

"There was a stranger from Therinsford at Horst's today, Evie," Roran said to her on the way home.

"What's his name?" Evangeline inquired, daintily sidestepping a patch of ice as she continued to walk at a brisk pace; her long braid swayed behind her as she followed her cousin down the road towards their home. Her face burned from the cold, but her large eyes were sparkling.

Their breath was visible in the air.

"Dempton. He came here to have Horst forge him some sockets," Roran explained as his muscular legs plowed through a drift, clearing the way for Evangeline.

"Doesn't Therinsford have it's own smith?" she asked curiously, flicking her thigh-length braid over her shoulder when it slid around.

"Yes, but he isn't skilled enough," Roran replied, glancing at Evangeline with a worried expression before adding, "Dempton needs the sockets for his mill. He's expanding it and offered me a job. If I accept, I'll leave with him when he picks up the sockets."

Millers worked all year. During the winter they ground whatever people brought them, but in harvest season they bought grain and sold it as flour. It was extremely hard, and dangerous work; workers often lost fingers or hands to the giant millstones.

"Are you going to tell Garrow?" Evangeline asked.

"Yes," Roran muttered as a grimly amused smile played across his face.

"Please, don't... you know what he thinks about us going away," Evangeline sighed. "It'll only upset him if you say anything. Forget about it so we can eat tonight's dinner in peace."

"I can't," her cousin retorted. "I'm going to take the job."

"What?" Evangeline squeaked, halting in the snow as strands of her long hair swirled around her torso; Roran stopped and turned around, facing her as well. "I know money is hard to come by, but we've always managed to survive. You don't have to leave... right?"

"I don't, but the money is for myself," Roran tried to resume walking, but Evangeline moved in front of him and blocked his way.

"What's going on, Roran?" she demanded. "Why do you want this job so badly?"

"I want to marry." Roran said, shoulders straightening slightly. Shock and astonishment washed over Evangeline's features; she remembered seeing Katrina and Roran kissing during the traders' visit, but _marriage?_

"Is it Katrina?" she asked weakly, just to confirm; Roran nodded. "Have you asked her?"

"Not yet, but come spring, when I can raise a house, I will," her cousin explained.

"There's too much work on the farm for you to leave now," Evangeline protested. "Wait until we're ready for planting."

"No," Roran said, laughing slightly. "Spring's the time I'll be needed most. The ground will have to be furrowed and sown. The crops must be weeded—not to mention all the other chores. No, this is the best time to go, when all we really do is wait for the seasons to change. You and Father can make do without me. If all goes well, I'll soon be back working on the farm, with a wife."

Evangeline knew that Roran was making sense, but why did it have to hurt so much? She shook her head, fighting back tears.

"I wish you the best of luck then Roran," she said, barely able to keep her voice calm to hide the fact that she was nearly crying, "but Garrow may take this with ill humor."

"We will see," he muttered.

They resumed walking, the silence a barrier between them. Evangeline's heart felt like a piece was getting ready to break off, a piece that had always been there. When they arrived home, Roran did not tell Garrow of his plans, but Evangeline knew that he soon would.

**TXXXXXT**

Evangeline went to see the dragon for the first time since it had spoken to her. She approached it apprehensively, fully aware that it was an equal.

_Evangeline._

"Is that all you can say?" she snapped.

_Yes._

Her eyes widened at the unexpected reply, and she plopped down roughly on her backside.

Now it has a sense of humor? What next?

Impulsively, she picked up a thick branch and started whittling it with her hunting knife. Roran's announcement had put her in a bad mood, and she was still trying not to cry. A questioning thought came from the dragon, so she told it what happened. As she talked, tears started spilling from her eyes and her voice grew louder until she was yelling pointlessly into the air. Then she cried like a little girl until her unhappy emotions were spent.

"I don't want him to leave, that's all," Evangeline whispered helplessly. " Roran's been there for me since we were little, but now I feel like he's drifting farther and farther away; it's almost like he's purposely distancing himself from me."

The dragon watched impassively, listening and learning.

Evangeline rubbed her eyes, then looked at the dragon thoughtfully.

"You need a name... I heard some interesting ones today; perhaps you'll like one," she murmured, then mentally ran through the list of names Brom had given her until she found two names that struck her as heroic, noble, and pleasing to the ear. "What do you think of Vanilor, or his successor, Eridor? Both were great dragons."

_No,_ the dragon replied; it sounded amused with her efforts. _Evangeline_.

"That's my name; you can't have it," she said, running a hand through her hair. "Well, if you don't like those, there are others."

She continued through the list, but the dragon rejected every one she proposed. It seemed to be laughing at something Evangeline didn't understand, but obviously should have. Evangeline was becoming frustrated, yet she still kept suggesting names.

"There was Ingothold; he slew the…" A revelation stopped her, and she laughed. She felt like an idiot now that she'd made the connection. "That's the problem! I've been choosing male names. You're a girl like me!"

_Yes,_ the dragon replied, folding her wings smugly. Now that she knew what to look for, Evangeline came up with half a dozen different names. She toyed with Opheila, but that didn't fit—after all, it was the name of a brown dragon. Lenora and Rosariella were also discarded. She was at a loss after all the names that Brom had given her were used and rejected. The she remembered the last name that Brom had muttered.

Evangeline liked it, but would the dragon?

"Are you Saphira?" she asked.

The dragon looked at her with intelligent eyes, and deep in her mind, Evangeline felt the dragon's satisfaction.

_Yes._

Something clicked inside her head, and the dragon's voice echoed, as if from a great distance.

Evangeline grinned in response.

Saphira started humming.


	6. Chapter 5: Strangers in Carvahall

**Chapter Five: Strangers in Carvahall  
**

The sun had set by the time dinner was served. A blustery wind howled outside, shaking the house.

Evangeline avoided looking at anyone as she waited for the inevitable.

"Father," Roran finally spoke, looking up at her Uncle. "I was offered a job at Therinsford's mill… which I plan to take."

Garrow finished his mouthful of food with deliberate slowness and laid down his fork. He leaned back in his chair, then interlaced his fingers behind his head and uttered one solemn word.

"Why?" he inquired

Roran explained his reason while Evangeline absently pushed her food around her plate, fighting back the tears that were threatening again.

"I see," was Garrow's only comment; he fell silent and stared at the ceiling. No one moved as they awaited his response. "When do you leave?"

"What?" Roran asked, with a confused look on his face; Garrow leaned forward with a twinkle in his eye.

"Did you think that I would stop you?" the man chuckled, eyes sparkling with delight. "I'd hoped you would marry soon. It will be good to see this family growing again, and Katrina will be lucky to have you. So, when do you leave?"

Astonishment raced over Roran's face, and he settled into a relieved grin.

"When Dempton returns to get the sockets for the mill," Roran explained once he had regained his voice.

"Fair enough," Garrow nodded, "and that will be in…?"

"Two weeks," Roran promptly explained.

"Good. That will give us time to prepare. It'll be different to have the house to ourselves. But if nothing goes amiss, it shouldn't be for too long." He looked over the table and asked, "Evangeline, did you know of this?"

"Yes," she murmured with a shrug, face hidden by her long hair, "but not until today… it's madness."

Her voice cracked and she fell silent. They both looked at her in concern.

"It's life's natural course, Dear One," Garrow sighed, running a hand over his face before he pushed himself up from the chair. "One day you'll understand Roran's feelings because there's someone out there right now that you're destined to fall in love with, my girl. Trust me, when the day you meet him comes, you'll know who he is. All will be fine; time will settle everything. For now, though, let's clean the dishes."

Evangeline and Roran helped him in silence.

**TXXXXXT**

The next few days were trying. Evangeline was unhappy, and she barely spoke to anyone. Except for curtly answering direct questions, she spoke to no one. There were small reminders everywhere that Roran was leaving: Garrow making him a pack, things missing from the walls, and a strange emptiness that filled the house. It was almost a week before she realized that distance had grown between Roran and her. When they spoke, the words didn't come easily like they used to, and their conversations were uncomfortable.

Saphira was the only balm for Evangeline's hurting heart.

She could talk freely with the dragon; the girl's emotions were completely open to her mind, and she understood Evangeline better than anyone else. During the weeks before Roran's departure, Saphira went through another growth spurt. She gained thirteen inches at the shoulder, which was now higher than Evangeline's head. Evangeline found that the small hollow where Saphira's neck joined her shoulders was a perfect place to sit. She often rested there in the evenings and scratched the dragon's neck while she explained the meanings of different words.

Soon, she understood everything Evangeline said and frequently commented on it.

For Evangeline, this part of her life was delightful: Saphira was as real and complex as any person. Her personality was eclectic, caring, and at times completely alien... yet they understood each other at a profound level that gave them more intimacy than normal beings. Her actions and thoughts constantly revealed new aspects of her character. Once she caught an eagle and, instead of eating it, released it.

_No hunter of the sky should end his day as prey,_ she'd told Eve._ Better to die on wing than pinned to the ground._

Evangeline's plan to let her family see Saphira had been dispelled by Roran's announcement and Saphira's own cautionary words. She was reluctant to be seen, and Evangeline—partly fearing her family's reactions—agreed. The moment Saphira's existence was divulged, she knew that shouts, accusations, and fear would be thrown at her… so she procrastinated. She told herself to wait for a sign that would tell her it was the right time.

The night before Roran was to leave the farm, Evangeline went to talk to him. She was wearing her nightgown, her long hair was undone from its braid, and the candle in her hand lit the hallway as she padded down it. Roran's door was open: she blew out the candle because the lamp resting on his nightstand was lit, painting the walls with warm flickering light. The bedposts cast elongated shadows on empty shelves that rose to the ceiling. Roran, brown eyes shaded and the back of his neck tense, was in the middle of rolling blankets around his clothes and belongings. He paused, then picked something up from the pillow and turned it around in his hand. It was a polished rosewood carving that she'd given to him years ago, a carving of Evangeline and himself standing in a cheerful pose. Roran started to tuck it into the bundle, then stopped and set it on a shelf.

A hard lump formed in Evangeline's throat, and she returned to her room before she could break down and start crying.

**TXXXXXT**

Breakfast was cold, but the tea was hot. Ice inside the windows had melted with the morning fire and soaked into the wood floor, staining it with dark puddles. Evangeline looked at Garrow and Roran by the kitchen stove and reflected sadly that this would be the last time she saw them together for many months. Roran sat in a chair, lacing his boots. His pack rested on the floor next to him. Garrow stood between them with his hands stuck deep into his pockets. His shirt hung loosely; his skin looked drawn. Despite his son's cajoling, he refused to go with Roran and Evangeline.

When Roran pressed for a reason, he only said that it was for the best.

"Do you have everything?" Garrow asked.

"Yes," her cousin murmured; Garrow nodded before he took a small pouch from his pocket: coins clinked as he handed it to Roran.

"I've been saving this for you," he explained. "It isn't much, but if you wish to buy some bauble or trinket, it will suffice."

"Thank you, but I won't be spending money on trifles," Roran chuckled.

"Do what you will; it is yours," Garrow sighed. "I've nothing else to give you, except a father's blessing. Take it if you wish, but it is worth little."

"Da," Roran whispered as his dark brown eyes filled with tears. "I would be honored to receive it."

"Then do, and go in peace," Garrow stated firmly, and kissed him on the forehead; then he turned and said gently, "Do not think that I have forgotten you, Evangeline: I have words for _both_ of you. It's time I said them, as you are entering the world. Heed them and they will serve you well. First, let no one rule your mind or body: take special care that your thoughts are unfettered. One may be a free man or woman and yet be bound tighter than a slave. Give men your ear, but not your heart. Show respect for those in power, but don't follow them blindly. Judge with logic and reason, but comment not. Consider none your superior, whatever their rank or station in life. Treat all fairly, or they will treat you unfairly. Be careful with your money. Hold fast to your beliefs and others with listen. Of the affairs of love… my only advice is be honest. That's your most powerful tool to unlock a heart or gain forgiveness. That is all I have to say."

He seemed slightly self-conscious of his speech, but he hoisted Roran's pack.

"Now you must go," Garrow muttered. "Dawn is approaching, and Dempton will be waiting."

"Father, I thank you," Roran sighed, shouldering his pack and hugging the man. "I will return as soon as I can."

"Good," Garrow replied, "but go now and don't worry about us."

They parted reluctantly.

Evangeline and Roran went outside, then turned and waved. Garrow raised a bony hand, his eyes grave, and watched as they trudged to the road. After a long moment, he shut the door. As the sound carried through the morning air, Roran halted. Evangeline looked back and gazed at the land she called her home. Her eyes lingered on the lone buildings. They looked pitifully small and fragile.

A thin finger of smoke was the only proof that the snowbound farm was inhabited.

"There is our whole world," Roran observed somberly; Evangeline shivered.

"A good one, too," the girl whispered, rubbing her slender arms before she glanced at her cousin with solemn amber eyes. Roran nodded, then straightened his shoulders and headed into his new future. The house disappeared from view as they descended the hill. It was still early when they reached Carvahall, but they found the smithy doors already open. The air inside was pleasantly warm. Baldor slowly worked two large bellows attached to the side of a stone forge filled with brine. From a line of neck-high poles protruding from the walls hung rows of items: giant tongs, pliers, hammers in every shape and weight, chisels, angles, center punches, files, rasps, latches, bars of iron and steel waiting to be shaped, vises, shears, picks, and shovels. Horst and Dempton stood next to a long table.

Dempton approached with a smile beneath his black mustache.

"Roran!" the man exclaimed. "I'm glad you came! There's going to be more work than I can handle with my new grindstones. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes!" Roran confirmed, hefting his pack. "Do we leave soon?"

"I've a few things to take care of first, but we'll be off within the hour!" the man boomed cheerfully; Evangeline shifted her feet when Dempton turned to her, tugging at a corner of his mustache. "You must be the famous Evangeline Alexandria. I'd heard rumors around here that Roran had a fiery-haired beauty for a cousin... and I can clearly see that they weren't exaggerating about how your eyes change colors depending on your mood."

He winked at her, laughing when she blushed scarlet and blinked in confusion.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not even close to being _pretty,_ much less a _beauty," _Evangeline replied, smiling uneasily as she shook the man's hand. "And what do you mean about my eyes changing color? From what I know, they've always been honey brown... haven't they, Roran?"

"You didn't know your eyes change colors?" her cousin asked, blinking in surprise before he grinned broadly. "Evie... your eyes are blue-green right now, not honey brown. They've always changed color, even when you were really little, so how did you never notice it?"

"I never bothered to pay much attention to what my eyes looked like," the girl muttered, touching her long hair. "I was always to busy trying to keep my hair in some sort of manageable order. When it hangs down to the back of your bottom, there's really not much you can do with it."

"Sheesh," Roran snorted, rolling his brown eyes. "I can't believe you never realized how cool your eyes are. I've always been a bit jealous."

"You really should take a look in the mirror sometime," Dempton huffed, gazing her supposed mood-ring eyes before he returned his attention to Roran and started to explain how a mill worked.

"They're ready to go," Horst interrupted after a few minutes, gesturing at the table where several bundles rested. "You can take them now."

They shook hands, and then Horst left the smithy, beckoning to Evangeline on the way out. Feeling oddly interested, Evangeline followed. He found the smith standing in the street with his arms crossed. Evangeline thrust her thumb back toward the miller.

"What do you think of him?" she asked, blinking up at the man. "Oh, and do my eyes really change color depending on my mood?"

"Yes, they do... right now they're a startling shade of aquamarine. Dempton's a good man... he'll do fine with Roran," Horst rumbled, absently brushing a few metal filings off his apron before he put a massive hand on Evangeline's small shoulder. "Lass, do you remember the fight you had with Sloan?"

"If you're asking about payment for the meat, I haven't forgotten," the girl peeped. "It's just been hectic at home the past few weeks."

"No, I trust you, lass," the man explained, lowering his voice. "What I wanted to know is if you still had that silver stone."

Evangeline's heart flipped.

_Why does he want to know? Did someone see Saphira?_ struggling not to panic, she replied, "I do, but why do you ask?"

"As soon as you return home, get rid of it," Horst explained, overriding her exclamation. "Two men arrived here yesterday. Strange fellows dressed in black and carrying curved swords. It made my skin crawl just to look at them. Last evening they started asking people if a stone like yours had been found, and they're at it again today. No one would say anything. They know trouble when they see it, but I could name a few people who will talk."

Evangeline went noticeably whiter as the blood drained from her face.

"Your eyes just turned a frightening shade of lime green," Horst noted, cocking a thick eyebrow. "Anything I should know about?"

Terror filled hers heart. Whoever had sent the stone into the Spine had finally tracked it down. Or perhaps the Empire had learned of Saphira. She didn't know which would be worse.

_Think! Think! The egg is gone, and it's impossible for them to find it_ now, the girl tried to reason until another thought hit her._ However, if they know what it was, it'll be obvious what happened… Saphira might be in danger!_

It took all of her self-control to retain a casual air.

"Thanks for telling me," Evangeline sighed, relieved that her voice barely trembled. "Do you know where they are?"

"I didn't warn you because I thought you needed to meet these men!" Horst scoffed, looking utterly aghast. "Leave Carvahall, and go home."

"All right," Evangeline replied, trying to placate the smith, "if that's what you think I should do."

"I do," Horst rumbled as his expression softened. "I may be overreacting, but these strangers give me a bad feeling. It would be better if you stay home until they leave. I'll try to keep them away from your farm, though it may not do any good."

Evangeline looked at him gratefully before she hugged him. She wished she could tell him about Saphira.

"I'll leave now," she said, and hurried back to Roran. Evangeline threw her arms around her cousin, and held him tightly before saying goodbye.

"Aren't you going to stay awhile?" Roran asked with surprise; Evangeline almost laughed and burst into tears at the same moment.

"There's nothing for me to do here," she explained, smiling at him, "and standing around until you leave is hurting me."

"Well," Roran said doubtfully, "I guess this is the last time we'll see each other for a few months."

Evangeline looked at him for a long moment, but then she broke down and hugged him tightly.

"Promise you'll stay safe. Promise me," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut to stop from crying.

"I promise, Evie. I'll be fine," Roran laughed.

"I love ya, Roran," she whispered, pulling away from her embrace; before she turned to leave, she took the medallion from around her neck, and slipped it over Roran's head. The crafted metal rose gleamed in the light of the forge fire. Evangeline ran out of the smithy and into the road. Horst still standing in the street. Aware that the smith was watching her, Evangeline headed to the outskirts of Carvahall, but once the smithy was out of sight, she ducked behind a house and sneaked back through the village. Evangeline kept to the shadows as she searched each street, listening for the slightest noise. Her thoughts flashed to her room, where her bow hung; she wished it was in her hand. She prowled across Carvahall, avoiding everyone until she heard a sibilant voice from around a house. Although her ears were keen, she had to strain to hear what was being said.

"When did this happen?" the voice was smooth, like oiled glass, and it seemed to worm its way through the air. Underlying the speech was a strange hiss that made the skin on the back of her neck prickle.

"About three months ago," someone else answered; Evangeline jerked with outrage as she identified the speaker as Sloan.

_Shade's blood, he's telling them… _the girl realized; she resolved to punch Sloan in the mouth next time they met.

A third person spoke. The voice was deep and moist. It conjured up images of creeping decay, mold, and other things best left untouched.

"Are you sure? We would hate to think you had made a mistake. If that were so, it would be most… unpleasant."

Evangeline could imagine only too well what they might do. Would anyone but the Empire dare threaten people like that?

Probably not, but whoever sent the egg might be powerful enough to use force with impunity.

"Yeah, I'm sure. She had it then. I'm not lying. Plenty of people know about it. Go ask them." Sloan sounded shaken.

He said something else that Evangeline did not catch.

"They have been… rather uncooperative," the words were derisive. "Your information has been helpful. We will not forget you."

Evangeline believed him.

"You're not going to hurt her, are you?" Sloan muttered.

"That's not your concern," the second stranger rasped; Evangeline heard someone hurrying away. She peered around the corner to see what was happening. Two tall men stood in the street. Both were dressed in long black cloaks that were lifted by sheaths poking past their legs. Insignias were intricately wrought on their shirts with silver thread. Hoods shaded their faces, and their hands were covered by backs were oddly humped, as though their clothes were stuffed with padding. When Evangeline shifted slightly to get a better view, one of the strangers stiffened and grunted peculiarly to his companion. They both swiveled around and sank into crouches. Evangeline's breath caught, and terror clutched her. Her eyes locked onto their hidden faces, and a stifling power fell over her mind, paralyzing her. She struggled against it and screamed at herself to move.

Her legs didn't even twitch. The strangers stalked toward her with a smooth, noiseless gait.

She knew that they could see her face now; they were almost to the corner, and they were grasping their swords…

"Evangeline!" She jerked as her name was called. The strangers froze in place and hissed. Brom hurried toward her from the side, head bare and staff in hand. The strangers were blocked from the old man's view. Evangeline tried to shout for him to run, but her tongue and arms would not stir.

"Evangeline!" Brom cried again; the strangers gave Evangeline one last look, then slipped away between the houses. The power holding her in place vanished, and she collapsed to the ground, shivering. Sweat beaded on her forehead and made her palms stick to the insides of her gloves. The old man offered Evangeline a hand and pulled him up with a strong arm. "You look ill... and your eyes are a color I've never seen before. Is all well?"

Evangeline swallowed and nodded mutely. Her eyes flicked around, searching for anything unusual.

"You're the fourth person to confirm my changing eyes," she muttered in dismay, touching her eyelids with shaking hands. "I just got dizzy all of a sudden, that's all… it's passed now, though. It was very odd—I don't know why it happened. Maybe I was moving too quickly."

"You'll recover," Brom murmured, "but perhaps it would be better if you went home."

Her eyes went wide with terror and he stared.

_Yes, I have to get_ home! the girl thought to herself. _I have to get there before they do!_

"I think you're right," she stammered, touching her forehead. "Maybe I'm getting ill."

"Then home is the best place for you," the man sighed; she didn't protest as Brom took her arm and led her away at a quick pace. His staff crunched in the snow as they passed the houses. "It's a long walk, but I'm sure you'll feel better by the time you arrive. Let me escort you to the road."

"Why were you looking for me?" Evangeline asked.

"Simple curiosity," the man explained with a shrug. "I learned you were in town and wondered if you had remembered the name of that trader."

_Trader? What's he talking about?_ Evangeline wondered blankly; her confusion caught the attention of Brom's probing eyes.

"No," she said, then amended herself, "I'm afraid I still don't remember."

"Well, then… if you do, come tell me," Brom sighed gruffly, as if something had been confirmed. He rubbed his eagle nose. "I am most interested in this trader who pretends to know so much about dragons."

Evangeline nodded with a distracted air. They walked in silence to the road.

"Hasten home," the man commanded, offering a hand. "I don't think it would be a good idea to tarry on the way."

Evangeline shook it, but as she let go, something in Brom's hand caught on the mitt and pulled it off. The old man picked it up.

"Clumsy of me," he apologized, and handed it back. As Evangeline took the mitt, Brom's strong fingers wrapped around her slender wrist and twisted sharply: her palm and the pale front of her arm briefly faced upward, revealing the spiraling silver mark. Brom's eyes glinted, but he let Evangeline yank her hand back and jam it into the mitt.

"Goodbye," Evangeline forced out, frightened, and ran down the road.

Behind her she heard Brom whistling a merry tune.


	7. Chapter 6: Flight of Destiny

**Chapter Six: Flight of Destiny**

Evangeline's mind raced as she sprinted down the road. She ran as fast as she could, refusing to stop even when her breath came in ragged gasps. As she tore down the cold road, she cast out her mind to Saphira, but the dragon was too far away for Evangeline to contact. She briefly thought about what she would say to Garrow. There was no choice now; she would have to reveal Saphira. She arrived home, gasping for air and heart pounding. Garrow stood by the barn with the horses. Evangeline hesitated.

_Should I talk to him now? He won't believe me unless Saphira is here,_ the girl muttered silently, slipping around the farm and into the forest before silently shouting for her dragon with every ounce of power in her being. _Saphira! Saphira, help, I need you!_

_I come,_ was the dim reply; through the words she sensed the dragon's alarm. Evangeline waited impatiently, though it wasn't long before the sound of Saphira's wings filled the air. She landed, her wings sending up a cloud of dust. _What happened?_

Evangeline touched her shoulder and closed her eyes: calming her mind, she quickly told her what had happened. When she mentioned the strangers, Saphira recoiled before rearing back and letting out a deafening roar: her her tail whipped towards Evangeline's head and the girl stumbled backward in surprise, ducking with a startled squeak. The spiked appendage hit a snowdrift instead of her face, but bloodlust and fear continued to emanate from the dragon in sickening waves.

_Fire! Enemies! Death! Murderers! _the dragon roared silently.

_What's wrong?!_ Evangeline cried, putting all of her mental strength into the words, but an iron wall surrounded Saphira's mind, shielding her thoughts. She let out another roar and gouged the earth with her claws, tearing the frozen ground. _Stop it! Garrow will hear!_

_Oaths betrayed! Souls killed! Eggs shattered! Blood everywhere! Murderers!_

Frantic, she blocked out Saphira's emotions and watched her tail. When it flicked past her, Evangeline dashed to the dragon's side and grabbed a spike on her back. Clutching it, she pulled herself into the small hollow at the base of her neck and held on tightly as Saphira reared again.

"Enough, Saphira!" she cried, and the dragon's stream of thoughts ceased abruptly. "Everything is going to be all right, okay?"

Suddenly, Saphira crouched and her wings rushed upward: they hung there for an instant, and then drove down as she flung herself into the sky. Evangeline screamed in terror as the ground dropped away and they rose above the trees; turbulence buffeted her, snatching the scream out of her mouth. Saphira ignored her terror and banked toward the Spine. Underneath, Eve glimpsed the farm and the Anora River before her stomach convulsed: she tightened her arms around Saphira's neck and concentrated on the scales in front of her nose, trying not to vomit as the dragon continued to climb.

When they leveled off, she gained the courage to glance around.

The air was so cold that frost accumulated on her long eyelashes: they had reached the mountains faster than she thought possible. From the air, the peaks looked like giant razor-sharp teeth waiting to slash them to ribbons. Then Saphira wobbled unexpectedly and Evangeline felt her stomach lurch: the girl immediately threw up over her side and let out a sob before she wiped her lips, tasting bile, and buried her head against Saphira's neck.

_We have to go back,_ she pleaded frantically. _The strangers are coming to the farm. We have to warn Garrow. Please, turn around!_

There was no answer.

Evangeline reached for her mind, but was blocked by a barrier of roiling fear and anger. Determined to make Saphira turn around, Evangeline worked into her mental armor. She pushed at its weak places, undermined the stronger sections, and fought to make her listen, but to no avail. Soon the mountains surrounded them, forming tremendous white walls broken by granite cliffs. Blue glaciers sat between the summits like frozen rivers. Long valleys and ravines opened beneath them.

She heard the dismayed screech of birds far below as Saphira flew into view.

Evangeline saw a herd of wooly goats bounding from ledge to ledge on a rocky bluff far below them.

The girl was battered by swirling gusts from Saphira's wings, and whenever the dragon moved her neck, her body was tossed dangerously from side to side. Saphira seemed tireless, and Evangeline was afraid she was going to fly through the night. Finally, as darkness fell, Saphira tilted into a shallow dive. Evangeline looked ahead and saw that they were headed for a small clearing in the center of a valley. Saphira spiraled down, leisurely drifting over the treetops. She pulled back as the ground neared, filled her wings with air, and landed on her rear legs. Her powerful muscles rippled as they absorbed the shock of impact, but then she dropped to all fours and skipped a step to keep her balance. Evangeline slid off with out waiting for her to fold her wings.

The moment she struck the ground, her knees buckled and she slammed against the dirt: she gasped as excruciating pain seared through her legs, sending tears to her eyes. Her muscles, cramped from clenching for so long, shook violently as she rolled onto her back, shivering, and stretched her limbs the best she could. Then she forced herself to look down: two large blots darkened her wool pants on the insides of her thighs. She touched the fabric: it was wet. Alarmed, she peeled the pants off and blanched. The insides of her legs were raw and bloody. The skin was gone, torn off by Saphira's hard scales. She gingerly felt the abrasions and winced as they scraped against the sensitive wounds. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't support her.

The deepening night obscured her surroundings; the shaded mountains were unfamiliar.

_Okay, I'm in the Spine—I don't know where—during the middle of winter, with a crazed dragon, and unable to walk or find shelter, _she thought, shivering violently before hugging her arms around herself._ Night is falling, and I have to get back to the farm tomorrow, but the only way to do that is to fly, which I can't endure anymore…_ o_h, how I wish Saphira could breathe fire... it's so cold out here._

Evangeline turned her head and saw Saphira next to her, crouched low to the ground. She put a hand on the dragon's side and found it trembling. The barrier in her mind was gone, and without it, her fear scorched through Evangeline. She clamped down on it and slowly soothed her with gentle images.

_Why do the strangers frighten you? _the girl asked.

_Murderers,_ she hissed.

_Garrow is in danger and you kidnap me on this ridiculous journey? Are you unable to protect me? _Evangeline demanded; Saphira growled deeply and snapped her jaws before shooting her a reproachful glare. _Well, if you think you can defend me well enough, why did you run like that?_

_Death is a poison, _the dragon retorted; Evangeline tried to lean on one elbow, but was too weak to manage it. She stifled her frustration with her own body.

_Saphira, look at where we are! _Evangeline exclaimed, looking up at her with amber eyes that rapidly shifted to a light silver-blue._ The sun is down, and your flight has stripped my legs as easily as I would scale a fish! __Is that what you wanted?_

_No, _the dragon replied unhappily.

_Then why did you do it?_ Evangeline demanded; through her link with Saphira, she felt the dragon's regret for her pain, but not for her actions. Then she looked away and refused to answer. The icy temperature had deadened Evangeline's legs; although it lessened the pain, she knew that her condition wasn't good so she changed tack. _I'm going to freeze to death unless you make me a shelter or hollow so I can stay warm. Even a pile of pine needles and branches would work. I'd do it, but I can't walk at the moment. _

Saphira seemed relieved that she had stopped interrogating her.

_There is no_ _need, _the dragon murmured._ I will curl around you and cover you with my wings—the fire inside me will stay the cold._

_Okay, but will you please scrape the snow off the ground first? It'll be more comfortable, and I won't wake up soaked, _Evangeline replied, letting her head sink back on the ground; in answer, Saphira razed a drift with her tail, clearing it with one powerful stroke. She swept over the site again to remove the last few inches of hardened snow. Evangeline eyed the exposed dirt with a calculating look. Then she tried to pull herself over to it using just her arms. She struggled to drag the deadweight of her lower body, but only managed to get a few inches before she was exhausted. She looked at Saphira and pleaded, _may I have some help please?_

Saphira's head, larger than Evangeline's torso, swung over her and came to rest by her side. Evangeline stared at her large, silver-colored eyes and wrapped her hands around one of the dragon's ivory spikes. Saphira lifted her head and slowly dragged her to the bare spot. Thank you, Saphira. She stifled a cry as she slid over a rock, stars dancing in her eyes, but she managed to hold on. After she'd let go, Saphira rolled on her side and exposed her warm belly. The tiny girl huddled against the smooth scales of her underside, watching as the dragon's right wing extended and enclosed her in complete darkness.

Almost immediately, the air began to lose its frigidity.

She pulled her arms inside her coat and tied the empty sleeves around her neck. For the first time she noticed that hunger was gnawing at her stomach. However, it did not distract her from her main worry: could she get back to the farm before the strangers did? And if not, what would happen?

_Even if I can force myself to rider Saphira again, it'll be at least mid-afternoon before we get back. The strangers could be there long before that,_ she realized, closing her eyes as a single tear slid down the side of her face. _What have I_ _done?_

**TXXXXXT**

When Evangeline opened her eyes in the morning, her first thought was that the sky had fallen. An unbroken plane of blue stretched over her head and slanted to the ground. Still half asleep, she reached out tentatively and felt a thin membrane under her fingers. It took her a long minute to realize what she was staring at. She bent her neck slightly and stared at the scaly haunch her head rested on. Slowly, she pushed her legs out from her fetal curl, scabs cracking. The pain had subsided some from yesterday, but she shrank from the thought of walking. Burning hunger reminded her of her missed meals.

She summoned the energy to move and tapped weakly on Saphira's side.

"Hey, wake up," she called loudly.

The dragon stirred and lifted her wing to admit a torrent of sunshine. Evangeline covered her eyes as the snow momentarily blinded her. Beside her, Saphira stretched like a cat and yawned, flashing rows of white teeth. When Evangeline's eyes had adjusted, she examined where they were. Imposing and unfamiliar mountains surrounded them, casting deep shadows on the clearing. Off to one side, she saw a trail cut through the snow and into the forest, where she could hear the muffled gurgling of a creek; gritting her teeth, the girl got to her feet but collapsed weakly to her knees when she tried to take a step. She tried again, this time managing to stay on her feet long enough to stagger over to a tree: the girl leaned against a branch to rest for a moment, but it broke with a loud snapping noise when she put her weight on it. She landed on her stomach with a yelp.

"Damn it," she squeaked, angrily flinging her long braid off of her nose: it had flipped up and over her head when she'd fallen.

She used the tree to get to her feet, and then looked down at the branch she'd broken. Suddenly she had an idea. She ripped off the twigs, fit one end of the branch under her arm, and planted the other firmly on the ground. With the help of her improvised crutch, she limped to the iced-over creek. She broke through the hard shell and cupped the clear, bitter water. Her thirst quenched, she returned to the clearing. As she emerged from the trees, she realized that she'd been in this very clearing before. She recognized the mountains and the lay of the land to such a degree that it disturbed her.

The girl leaned weakly against a rough trunk, feeling frightened beyond words.

There was no mistake, for now she saw the gray trees that had been stripped of their needles in the explosion.

This was where, amid deafening sound and scorching heat, Saphira's egg had first appeared.

_How did Saphira know where this was…? She was still in the egg. My memories must have given her enough information to find it._ She shook her head in silent astonishment; Saphira was waiting patiently for her.

_Will you take me home?_ she asked, blinking when Saphira cocked her head. _I know you don't want to, but you must. Both of us carry an obligation to Garrow. He has cared for me and, through me, you. We have to return before those men hurt him. What will be said of us in years to come of we don't return—that we hid like cowards while my uncle was in danger? If there will be a fight, let's face it and not shy away. You are a dragon! Even a Shade would run from you! Yet here we are, crouching in the mountains like frightened rabbits._

Evangeline had meant to anger her, and she succeeded. A growl rippled from her throat as her head jabbed within a few inches of the girl's face. She bared her fangs at Evangeline and glared at her, smoke trailing from her nostrils. Evangeline hoped she had not gone too far.

Saphira's thoughts reached her, hot with anger.

_Blood will meet blood,_ the dragon muttered._ Our wyrds—our fates—bind us, but try me not. I will take you because of debt owed, but into foolishness we fly._

"Foolishness or not," Evangeline whispered into the air, "there is no choice—we must go."

She took off her shirt and ripped it in half, before stuffing pieces into each side of her pants. The mark on her body would be exposed if she took off her coat now, but there was nothing she could do about that. Gingerly, Evangeline hoisted herself onto Saphira and took a tight hold of her neck.

_This time,_ she told the dragon, _fly lower and faster. Time is against us._

Don't let go, Saphira cautioned, then surged into the sky. They rose above the forest and leveled out immediately, barely staying above the branches. Evangeline's stomach lurched, and she was glad it was empty.

_Please, go faster…_ she urged; Saphira said nothing, but the beat of her wings increased. Evangeline screwed her eyes shut and hunched her shoulders. She had hoped that the extra padding of her shirt would protect her legs, but every movement sent ripping pain through them. Soon, lines of hot blood were trickling down her calves. Concern emanated from Saphira. She went faster now, her wings straining, and the land sped past, as if it were being pulled out from under them. Evangeline wondered whether, to someone on the ground, they were just a blur or not.

By early afternoon, Palancar Valley lay before them. Clouds obscured her vision to the south; Carvahall was to the north.

Saphira glided down while Evangeline searched for her farm; however, when she spotted it... terror jolted through her.

_Saphira, get me down there, now!_ she shrieked, pointing frantically at her home. Saphira locked her wings and tilted into a steep dive, hurtling towards the ground at a frightening rate. Then she altered her dive slightly so they sped toward the forest.

"Land in the fields!" Evangeline shouted over the screaming air, holding on tighter as they plummeted. Saphira waited until they were only a hundred feet off the ground before driving her wings downward in several powerful strokes. She landed heavily, breaking Evangeline's grip: the girl crashed to the ground, then staggered upright, fighting for the breath that had been knocked out of her even as she charged towards her home.

The house had been blasted apart.

Timbers and boards that had been walls and roof were strewn across a wide area. The wood was pulverized, as if a giant hammer had smashed it. Sooty shingles lay everywhere. A few twisted metal plates were all that remained of the stove. The snow was perforated with smashed white crockery and bricks from the chimney. Thick, oily smoke billowed from the barn, which burned fiercely; the farm animals were gone, either killed or frightened away.

"Garrow!" Evangeline cried, running to the wreckage and searching through the destroyed rooms for Garrow. There was no sign of him. "Garrow!"

Saphira walked around the house and came to the girl's side.

_Sorrow breeds here,_ she said.

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't run away with me!" the girl wailed.

_You would not be alive if we had stayed, _Saphira replied.

"Look at this!" Evangeline shrieked, tears streaming from her sparkling eyes. "We could have _warned_ my uncle! It's our fault that he didn't get away!"

She slammed her fist against a pole and cut herself deeply on a rusty nail: blood dripped down her fingers as she stalked out of the house. She stumbled to the path that led to the road and bent to examine the snow. Several tracks were before her, but her vision was blurry and she could barely see.

_Am I going blind?_ she wondered vacantly; with a shaking hand, she touched her cheeks and found them wet.

She hadn't even realized that she'd been crying, but once she had, Evangeline fell to her knees hopelessly.

A shadow fell on her as Saphira loomed overhead, sheltering the girl with her wings.

_Take comfort; all may not be lost, _Saphira soothed; Evangeline looked up at her, searching for hope. _Examine the trail; my eyes see only two sets of prints. Garrow could not have been taken from here._

Evangeline focused on the trampled snow. The faint imprints of two pairs of leather boots headed toward the house. On top of those were the same two sets leaving. And whoever had made the departing tracks had been carrying the same weight as when they arrived.

_You're right, Garrow has to be here! _the girl exclaimed, leaping to her feet and hurrying back to the house.

_I will search around the buildings and in the forest,_ Saphira called.

Evangeline rushed into the remains of the kitchen and frantically started digging through a pile of rubble. A wooden beam shifted and bashed her on the side of the head, but she took no notice and continued digging. Pieces of debris she normally could not have moved on her own now seemed to shift on their own accord. A cupboard, mostly intact, stymied her for a second, but then she heaved and sent it crashing over. As she pulled on a board, something rattled behind her. She spun around, bracing herself for an attack.

A hand extended from under a section of collapsed roof. It moved weakly, and she grasped it with a cry.

"Uncle, can you hear me?!" Evangeline shouted, paling when there was no response. The girl began tearing at pieces of wood, heedless of the nails and screws that sliced and pierced her hands. She quickly exposed an arm and shoulder, but it was barred by a heavy beam; she threw herself against it and shoved with every fiber of her being, but it defied her efforts. "Saphira, help! I found him and I need your help!"

She came immediately: wood cracked under her paws as she crawled over the ruined walls. Without a word, she nosed past Evangeline and set her side against the beam. Her claws sunk into what was left of the floor; her muscles strained. With a grating sound, the beam lifted, and Evangeline rushed under it. Garrow lay on his stomach, his clothes mostly torn off. Evangeline pulled him out of the rubble. As soon as they were clear, Saphira released the beam, leaving it to crash to the floor. Evangeline dragged Garrow out of the destroyed house and eased him to the ground.

Dismayed, she touched her uncle's face with gentle fingers: his skin was gray, lifeless, and dry, as if a fever had burned off any sweat. His lip was split, and there was a long cut on his cheekbone. That was not the worst, however: deep, ragged burns covered most of his body, but they were a chalky white and oozed clear liquid. A cloying, sickening smell hung over him—similar to the odor of rotting fruit.

His breath came in short jerks, each one sounding like a death rattle.

_Murderers,_ Saphira hissed.

_Don't say that! He can still be saved! _the girl protested We have to get him to Gertrude. I can't carry him to Carvahall, though.

Saphira presented an image of Garrow hanging under her while she flew.

_Can you lift both of us?_ Evangeline asked in surprise.

_I must, _Saphira replied.

Evangeline dug through the rubble until she found a board and leather thongs. She had Saphira pierce a hole with a claw at each of the board's corners, and then she looped a piece of leather through each hole and tied them to the dragon's forelegs. After checking to make sure the knots were secure, she rolled Garrow onto the board and lashed him down. As she did, a scrap of black cloth fell from her uncle's hand. It matched the strangers' clothing. She angrily stuffed it into her pocket, mounted Saphira, and closed her eyes as her body settled into an unsteady throb of pain.

_Let's go! _the brunette cried, and Saphira leapt up with her hind legs digging into the ground: her wings clawed the air as she slowly climbed. Tendons strained and popped as she battled gravity. For a long, painful second, nothing happened, but then she lunged forward powerfully and they rose higher. Once they were over the forest, Evangeline told her, _Follow the road; it will give you enough room if you have to land._

_I might be seen, _the dragon pointed out.

_It doesn't matter anymore, _Evangeline murmured.

Saphira argued no further as she veered to the road and headed for Carvahall with Garrow swinging wildly underneath them; only the slender leather cords kept him from falling. The extra weight slowed Saphira drastically and before long, her head sagged and there was froth at her mouth. Still, she struggled to continue, yet they were almost a league from Carvahall when she locked her wings and sank toward the hind feet touched with a shower of snow. Evangeline tumbled off her, landing heavily on her side to avoid hurting her legs: her reddish brown hair, which had slipped free of its braid, fanned out around her in the snow... making it look stained with dried blood. The girl struggled to her feet and worked to untie the leather from Saphira's legs: her thick panting filled the air.

_Find a safe place to rest,_ Evangeline said. _I don't know how long I'll be gone; take care of yourself until I get back, okay?_

_I will wait,_ the dragon replied.

Evangeline gritted her teeth and began to drag Garrow down the road. The first few steps sent an explosion of agony through her body.

"I can't do this!" she wailed at the sky, then took a few more steps.

Her mouth locked into a determined grimace and she stared at the ground between her feet as she forced herself to hold a steady pace. It was a fight against her injured and exhausted body; a fight that she refused to lose. The minutes crawled by at an excruciatingly slow rate. Each yard she covered seemed many times that. Eventually she wondered if Carvahall still existed or if the strangers had burnt it down, too.

Her body had reached its limit: her vision shifted and she found herself falling to the ground.

Snow swirled around her, and all she wanted to do was close her eyes... she was about to give in, when through her haze of pain, she heard shouting. Suddenly, Brom was at her side: he grabbed her shoulders and turned her over. His eyes were large, hair awry, and the side of his head was bloody. He shouted something in a loud voice. Evangeline blinked uncomprehendingly when, without warning, her vision began to fade.

She tasted blood as she blacked out.


	8. Chapter 7: The Doom of Innocence

**Chapter Seven: The Doom of Innocence**

Dreams roiled in Evangeline's mind, breeding and living by their own laws...

_She watched as a group of people on proud horses approached a lonely river. Many of them had silver hair and carried tall lances. A strange, fair ship waited for them, shining under a bright moon. The figures slowly boarded a vessel; two of them, taller than the rest, walked arm in arm. Their faces were obscured by cowls, but she could tell that one was a woman. They stood on the deck of the ship and faced the shore. A young woman stood alone on the pebble beach, the only one who had not boarded the ship. She threw back her head and let out a long, aching wail. As it faded, the ship glided down the river, without a breeze or oars, out into the flat, empty land. The woman on the shore fell to her knees, and started crying. _

_The vision clouded, but just before it disappeared, Evangeline saw two dragons flying in the sky._

Evangeline was first aware of the creaking: back and forth, back and forth. The persistent sound made her open her eyes and stare at the underside of a thatched roof. A rough blanket was draped over her, concealing the fact that she was naked. Someone had bandaged her legs and head, and had tied clean rags around the cuts on her hands. On top of that, she was in a single-room hut: a mortar and pestle sat on a table with bowls and plants, rows of dried herbs hung from the wall and suffused the air with strong, earthy aromas, and flames writhed inside of a stone fireplace... before which sat a rotund woman in a wicker rocking chair—the town healer, Gertrude.

Her head lolled, eyes closed: a pair of knitting needles and a ball of wool thread rested in her lap.

Though Evangeline felt drained of willpower, she made herself sit up since it helped to clear her mind. She sifted through her memories of the last two days: her first thought was of Garrow, and her second was of Saphira.

_I hope she's in a safe place, _Evangeline thought silently, trying to contact the dragon only to find that she couldn't: wherever she was, it was very far from Carvahall. _At least Brom got me to the village... I wonder what happened to him. There was all that blood on his face…_

Gertrude stirred and opened her sparkling eyes.

"Oh," she laughed, startling Evangeline with her rich and warm voice. "You're awake! Good! How do you feel?"

"I'm fine, but where's Garrow?" the brunette asked, looking at her with eyes the color of warm gold: they had shifted color in an instant.

"Well, he's over at Horst's," Gertrude explained, dragged the chair close to the bed. "There wasn't enough room to keep both of you here... and let me tell you, it's kept me on my toes, having to run back and forth, checking to see if the two of you were all right."

"Oh," Evangeline mumbled, swallowing her worries as she self-consciously covered her only slightly-rounded chest. "How is he?"

There was a long delay as she examined her hands.

"Not good," the woman sighed, looking up at her shimmering eyes. "He has a fever that refuses to break, and his injuries aren't healing."

"I have to see him!" Evangeline squeaked, immediately trying to get up.

"Not until you eat," Gertrude said sharply, pushing the girl back down. "I didn't spend all this time sitting by your side so you can get back up and hurt yourself. Half the skin on your legs was torn off, you had an extremely high fever that broke only last night, and you lost too much blood from all those cuts on your hands and the gash on your head. Don't worry yourself about Garrow. He'll be fine. He's a tough man."

Gertrude hung a kettle over the fire, and then began chopping parsnips for soup.

"How long have I been here, exactly?" Eve asked, blinking at her.

"Three full days," the woman replied.

_Three days?! _Evangeline silently gasped, face going pale as a sickening wave of dizziness slammed into her. _That means my last meal was five mornings ago, and Saphira's been on her own for this entire time… I hope she's all right._

"The whole town wants to know what happened. They sent men down to your farm and found it destroyed," Gertrude said carefully, glancing up to see that Evangeline was nodding slowly; she had expected that. "Your barn was burned down, too… is that how Garrow was injured?"

"I… I don't know," Evangeline stammered. "I wasn't there when it happened.

"Well, no matter... I'm sure it'll all get untangled," Gertrude sighed, sitting down and resuming knitting while the soup cooked. "That's quite a scar on your body, though... I've never seen a scar that looked like that. It looks as though it was purposely engraved onto your skin"

"Yes…" Evangeline mumbled, reflexively clenching her hand.

"How did you get it?" Gertrude asked, glancing up at her; several possible answers came to mind, but she chose the simplest one.

"I've had it ever since I can remember," Evangeline explained. "I've never asked Garrow about it, but Brom told me it was a birthmark."

"Mmm," the healer sighed; the silence remained unbroken until the soup reached a rolling boil. Gertrude then poured it into a bowl and handed it to Evangeline with a spoon. She accepted it gratefully but the blanket slipped down, revealing her nearly-flat chest; when she blushed and tried to cover herself, Gertrude chuckled. "It's all right, Evangeline, don't be ashamed of your body; it hasn't developed completely yet, so don't worry."

"That's easy for _you_ to say," Evangeline squeaked, face going from slightly pink to crimson. "You don't look like a girl with a boy's chest!"

Gertrude laughed so heartily that nearly dropped the bowl in her hands.

"Child, let me tell you a secret," the woman giggled, leaning forward with a mischievous glint. "I had a flat chest, too, when I was your age."

"You did?" Eve asked, blinking in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes, I did. It was as flat as a washboard until I turned twenty one," Gertrude chuckled merrily before rolling her eyes. "You've never had a mother, Sweetheart, so you don't know about things like this. Every woman develops at a different pace, and for some, it takes a long time; for others, it happens very early. Don't worry about it, though, because one day you'll wake up and they'll be bigger. Trust me, because it _will_ happen someday."

Evangeline laughed gratefully, then took a cautious sip of her soup. It was delicious.

When she'd finished, she looked up at Gertrude.

"Can I visit Garrow now?" she pleaded, eyes shifting in color once again; Gertrude blinked at her eyes for a moment before sighed.

"You're a determined one, aren't you?" she asked. "Well, if you really want to, I won't stop you. Put on your clothes and we'll go."

She turned her back as Evangeline struggled into her pants, wincing as they dragged over the bandages, and then slipped on her coat since her shirt was destroyed. Gertrude helped her stand. Her legs were weak, but they didn't pain her like before.

"Take a few steps," she commanded, and then dryly observed, "At least you won't have to crawl there."

Outside, a blustery wind blew smoke from the adjacent buildings into their faces. Storm clouds hid the spine and covered the valley while a curtain of snow advanced toward the village, obscuring the foothills. Evangeline leaned heavily on Gertrude as they made their way through Carvahall. Horst had built his two-story house on a hill so he could enjoy a view of the mountains. He had lavished all of his skill on it. The shale roof shadowed a rail balcony that extended from a tall window on the second floor. Each water spout was a snarling gargoyle, and every window and door was framed by carvings of serpents, harts, ravens, and knotted vines. The door was opened by Elain, Horst's wife: she was a small, willowy woman with refined features and silky blonde hair pinned into a bun. Her dress was demure and neat, her movements were graceful, and she was such a beautiful woman that Eve had actually been envious of her from time to time. However, she knew such feelings were folly: she was content to be herself.

"Please, come in," she said softly; they stepped over the threshold into a large well-lit room. A staircase with a polished balustrade curved down to the floor. The walls were the color of honey. Elain gave Evangeline a sad smile, but addressed Gertrude. "I was just about to send for you. He isn't doing well, so you should see him right away."

"Elain, you'll have to help Evangeline up the stairs," Gertrude said, then hurried up them two at a time.

"It's okay," the brunette murmured, giving her a timid smile. "I can do it myself."

"Are you sure?" Elain asked, looking a bit doubtful when Evangeline nodded. "Well… as soon as you're done come visit me in the kitchen. I have a fresh-baked pie you might enjoy."

As soon as the smith's wife left, Evangeline sagged against the wall, welcoming the support. Then she started up the stairs, one painful step at a time. When she reached the top, she looked down a long hallway dotted with doors. The last one was open slightly. Taking a breath, she limped towards it, using the wall as a crutch. Katrina stood by a fireplace, boiling rags: she looked up and murmured a condolence before returning to her work; Gertrude stood directly beside her, grinding herbs for a poultice. A bucket by her feet held snow melting into ice water.

Garrow lay on a bed piled high with blankets: sweat covered his brow, and his eyes flickered blindly under their lids. The skin on his face was shrunken like a cadaver's and he was still, save for subtle tremors from his shallow breathing. Evangeline touched her uncle's cheek with a feeling of unreality, wincing when it burned against her hand. She apprehensively lifted the edge of the blankets and saw that Garrow's many wounds were bound with strips of cloth. Where the bandages were being changed, the burns hadn't healed. Evangeline looked at Gertrude with hopeless eyes.

"Can you do anything about these?" she asked in a dazed voice.

The healer pressed a rag into the bucket of ice water, and then draped the cool cloth over Garrow's head.

"I've tried everything: salves, poultices, tinctures, but nothing works," Gertrude muttered helplessly. "If the wounds managed to close, he would have a better chance at surviving... still, things may turn for the better. He's hardy and strong for a man his age."

Evangeline backed into a corner and sank to the floor.

_This isn't the way things are supposed to be… _she thought before silence swallowed her mind and she stared blankly at the bed. After a while, she noticed Katrina kneeling beside her; when she put an arm around Evangeline's shoulders, the girl looked up.

"Thank you, Katrina; but you shouldn't be near me. If your father found out about it, he'd throw a fit," Evangeline stated softly "He... doesn't like me."

Her voice was neutral and her eyes were deadened, but her words held a hidden meaning and Katrina noticed it. The redhead didn't understand what the smaller girl meant, even though it severely disturbed her for some reason; getting to her feet, Katrina diffidently returned to her work. Sometime later, the door opened and Horst came in; he talked to Gertrude in a low voice, then approached Evangeline.

"Come on, Lass, you need to get out of here," he rumbled; Evangeline didn't even speak a word as Horst dragged her to her feet and shepherded her out the door. "You need a break and fresh air. Don't worry, you can go back soon enough."

Evangeline didn't respond; she didn't even look at him. She let the smith help her downstairs into the kitchen. Heady smells from half a dozen dishes—rich with spices and herbs—filled the air. Albriech and Baldor were there, talking with their mother as she kneaded bread. The brothers fell silent as they saw Evangeline, but she'd heard enough to know that they were discussing Garrow.

"Here, sit down," said Horst, offering a chair; Evangeline sank into it without a word, staring at the wall with eyes devoid of their usual light. Her hands were shaking, but she didn't even notice enough to try and hide it. A plate, piled high with food, was set before her.

"You don't have to eat," Elain said, looking at her eyes with a worried expression, "but it is there if you want."

Evangeline still didn't respond, so she returned to her cooking.

"How do you feel?" asked Horst.

"Like my heart is breaking apart," Evangeline answered inaudibly, expression never changing; the smith wavered for a moment.

"I know this isn't the best time, but we need to know," Horst muttered, looking at her eyes with an expression similar to Elain's. "What happened?"

"I don't remember," the girl stated blankly.

"Evangeline," Horst said, leaning forward, "I was one of the people who went out to your farm. Your house didn't just fall apart—something tore it to pieces. Surrounding it were tracks of a gigantic beast I've never seen nor heard of before. Others saw them as well. Now, if there's a Shade or a monster roaming around, we have to know. You're the only one who can tell us."

Evangeline looked at him, her face showing expression for the first time in an hour: rage.

"The only monster around _here_ is living inside this _village!_ If you want to know what happened, go talk to Sloan. When I left Carvahall four days ago, there were strangers in town asking about a stone like the one I found. You talked to me about them, and because of that, I tried to go home... but I bumped into them on the way. I hid behind a tree, and guess who they were talking to? Sloan. They were getting information from him, so he told them where my farm was and how to find it. I ran home, but I was so frightened that I didn't tell Garrow... " She halted abruptly, closing her eyes; she opened them again after a moment. All eyes were on her. "The next morning, I finished my chores, but I was still shaken from the night before. So I decided to try and clear my mind by going for a walk in the forest. A while after I'd left, I heard an explosion and saw smoke rising above the trees. I ran back home as quickly as possible, but by the time I got there, whoever did it was already gone. I dug through the wreckage and…"

"So, you found Garrow and put him on the plank? You dragged him back?" Albriech asked.  
"Yes," Evangeline whispered, digging in her pocket and pulling out the scrap of fabric, "but before I left, I looked at the path to the road. There were two pairs of tracks on it, both of them men's. This piece of cloth was in Garrow's hand: I think it matches what those strangers were wearing."

She set it on the table and her face slowly went back to being expressionless.

"It does," Horst grumbled, looking both thoughtful and angry. "What of your legs? How were they injured?"

"I'm not sure," Evangeline replied emotionlessly, turning her eyes away from him. "I think it happened when I was digging Garrow out, but I don't know. It wasn't until blood started running down my legs that I noticed it."

"That's horrible!" Elain exclaimed.

"We should pursue those men," Albriech stated angrily. "They can't get away with this! With a pair of horses we could catch them tomorrow and bring them back here."

"Put that foolishness out of your head," Horst snapped, then looked at Evangeline. "They could probably pick you up like a baby and throw you against a tree. Remember what happened to the house? We don't want to get in the way of those people. Besides, they have what they want now. They did take the stone, didn't they?"

"It wasn't in the house," she stated lifelessly.

"Then there's no reason for them to return now that they have it," the man stated, then gave Evangeline a piercing look. "You didn't mention anything about those strange tracks. Do you know where they came from?"

Evangeline was quiet for a moment.

"I didn't notice them," the girl whispered.

"I don't like this," Baldor abruptly exclaimed. "Too much of it rings of wizardry. Who are those men? Are they Shades? Why did they want the stone, and how could they have destroyed the house except with dark powers? You may be right, Father, the stone might be all they wanted, but I think we will see them again."

Silence followed his words.

A horrible thought suddenly struck Evangeline. With a sinking heart, she voiced her suspicion.

"Roran doesn't know, does he?" the girl choked out, eyes going wide when Horst shook his head.

"He and Dempton left a little while after you," the smith explained. "Unless they ran into some difficulty on the road, they've been in Therinsford for a couple of days now. We were going to send a message, but the weather was too cold yesterday and the day before."

"Baldor and I were about to leave when you woke up," Albriech offered; Horst ran a hand through his beard.

"Go on, both of you," the man muttered. "I'll help you saddle the horses."

"I'll break it to him gently," Baldor promised, turning to Evangeline before he followed Horst and Albriech out of the kitchen. The slender brunette remained sitting at the table, staring with unseeing eyes at the wall. Every excruciating detail of Garrow's injuries was flashing in her mind's eye. She searched for answers to why this had happened, but they eluded her. A faint call broke through her pounding thoughts. She ignored it. Several minutes later she heard it again, louder than before. She glanced at Elain, but the woman didn't seem to be bothered by the noise.

_EVANGELINE!_ the roar was so loud that she nearly fell out of the chair; she looked around in alarm, but nothing had changed. She suddenly realized that the shouts had been inside her head.

_Saphira?_ she asked anxiously.

_Eh?_ there was a pause. _Yes, stone ears._

_Thank the heavens,_ the girl sighed as relief seeped into her heart. _Where are you?_

She sent Evangeline an image of a small clump of trees.

_I tried to contact you many times, but you were beyond reach, _the dragon explained.

_I was sick… but I'm better now,_ the girl murmured, feeling the alarm flaring up. _Why couldn't I sense you earlier?_

_After two nights of waiting, hunger bested me,_ Saphira replied._ I had to hunt._

_Did you catch anything?_

_A young buck,_ the dragon explained._ He was wise enough to guard against the predators of the land, but not those of the sky. When I first caught him in my jaws, he kicked and tried to escape. I was stronger, and when defeat became unavoidable he gave up and died. Does Garrow also fight the unavoidable?_

_I don't know,_ Evangeline murmured, telling Saphira the particulars before she said, _it'll be a long time, if ever, before we can go home. I won't be able to see you for at least a couple of days, so you should make yourself comfortable._

_I will do as you say,_ the dragon replied unhappily, _but do not take too long._

They parted reluctantly. Evangeline looked out a window and was surprised to see that the sun had set. Feeling very tired, she limped to Elain, who was wrapping meat pies with oilcloth.

"I'm going to back to Gertrude's house to sleep," the small girl said.

"Why don't you stay with us?" Elain asked, finishing up with the packages. "You'll be closer to your uncle, and Gertrude can have her bed back."

"Do you have enough room?" Evangeline asked, wavering.

"Of course! Come with me; I'll get everything ready," Elain exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron before she escorted Evangeline upstairs to an empty room. The tiny girl sat on the edge of the bed while the woman watched, blue eyes flickering indecisively. "Do you need anything else?"

"No," Evangeline murmured, giving a little shake of her head.

"In that case, I'll be downstairs. Call me if you need help," Elain sighed; Eve listened as the smith's wife descended the stairs, then opened the door and slipped down the hallway to Garrow's room. Gertrude gave her a small smile over her darting knitting needles.

"How is he?" Evangeline whispered.

"He's weak, but the fever's gone down a little and some of the burns look better," the healer explained, voice rasping with fatigue. "We'll have to wait and see, but this could mean he'll recover."

That lightened Evangeline's mood, and a small spark of hope lit up her eyes. She returned to her room, but the darkness seemed unfriendly as she huddled under the blankets. Eventually she fell asleep, healing the wounds her body and soul had suffered.

**TXXXXXT**

It was dark when Evangeline jolted upright in bed, breathing hard.

The room was chilly and gooseflesh formed on her bare arms and shoulders. It was a few hours before dawn—the time when nothing moves and life waits for the first warm touches of sunlight. Her heart pounded as a terrible premonition gripped her: it felt like a shroud lay over the world, and its darkest corner was hovering over her room. She quietly got out of bed and put on a nightgown that Elain had left on a chair. With apprehension she hurried down the hallway, but Alarm shot through her when she saw that the door to Garrow's room was open and people were clustered inside. Garrow lay peacefully on the bed: he was dressed in clean clothes, his hair had been combed back, and his face was calm. He might have been sleeping if not for the silver amulet clasped around his neck and the sprig of dried hemlock on his chest: the last gifts from the living to the dead. Katrina stood next to the bed, face pale and eyes downcast.

"I had hoped to call him Father one day…" Evangeline heard her whisper,

_Call him Father,_ she thought bitterly, _a right even I didn't have._

She felt like a ghost, drained of all vitality: everything was insubstantial except for Garrow's face. Tears flooded Evangeline's cheeks as she stood there, shaking, but the girl didn't cry out. Mother, aunt, uncle—she'd lost them all, and the weight of that grief was crushing her... it was a monstrous force that was leaving her staggering. Someone pressed something metal into her hands: She looked down and saw a delicately carved, painted rose hanging from a silver chain. She looked up at the person handing it to her: Horst. He looked at her sadly.

"Roran said to give this back to you," the man muttered unhappily, looking at Garrow. "Said he didn't need it."

Evangeline's heart cracked so badly that she lost it.

She turned around and ran out of the room, staggering down the stairs and outside into the darkness: frozen rain pelted her like hail, but she didn't care; she fell to her knees and sobbed convulsively, hugging the rose close to her chest. She felt Saphira trying to contact her, but she pushed the dragon aside and let herself be swept away by her sorrow. She could not accept that Garrow was gone. If she did, what was left to believe in? Only a merciless, uncaring world that destroyed lives like the flame of a candle before a strong wind. Terrified, heartbroken, and completely she turned her tear-stained face toward the dark sky and glared as lightning flashed across it. It was like the world was tormenting her in its own personal way.

"What god would do this?! If you can hear me, show yourself?!" the girl shrieked, clutching her head and pressing it against the wet ground; she heard people running toward her, but no answer came from above. "He didn't deserve this! Our _family_ didn't deserve this! Why did it happen?!"

Comforting hands touched her, and she was suddenly aware of Elain sitting next to her: she held Evangeline as the girl cried, rocking her back and forth in the soaking rain as she wailed. Eventually Horst carried the exhausted girl back to her room, where she slipped unwillingly into sleep.


	9. Chapter 8: A Rider's Blade

**Chapter Eight: A Rider's Blade**

Anguish enveloped Evangeline the moment she woke up: even though her eyes were closed, she couldn't stop a fresh flow of tears. She searched for an idea, or a hope to help her keep her sanity.

_I can't live like this,_ she whined.

_Then don't,_ Saphira replied, words reverberating inside her head.

_How? Garrow is gone forever, and in time, it will happen again. Love, family, accomplishments— they're all torn away, leaving nothing,_ the girl retorted angrily, feeling her emotions lashing out negatively because of the pain. _What is the worth of anything we do?_

_The worth is in the act. Your worth halts when you surrender the will to change and experience life,_ Saphira explained. _Options are before you; choose one and dedicate yourself to it. The deeds will give you new hope and purpose._

_What can I do, though? _Evangeline asked.

_The only true guide is your heart,_ the dragon sighed._ Nothing less than its supreme desire can help you._

She left Evangeline to ponder her statements; when the girl examined her emotions, it surprised her to find that, more than grief, she found searing rage.

_What do you want me to do… pursue the strangers? _the girl asked.

_Yes, _the dragon hissed; Saphira's frank answer confused her, so she took a deep, trembling breath.

_Why? _Evangeline asked, trying to figure out her reasoning.

_Remember what you said to me in the Spine?_ Saphira demanded, making the girl blink._ How you reminded me of my duty as a dragon, and I returned with you despite the urging of my instincts? So, you too, must you control yourself. I've thought long and deep the past few days, and I realized what it means to be a dragon and a Rider: It is our destiny to attempt the impossible, to accomplish great deeds regardless of fear. It is our responsibility to the future._

_That may be true, but those aren't reasons to leave!_ Evangeline cried.

_Then here are others. My tracks have been seen, and people are alert to my presence,_ Saphira retorted._ Eventually, I will be exposed. Besides, there is nothing here for you. No farm, no family, and—_

_Roran is not dead!_ Eve vehemently interrupted.

_Yes, but if you stay, you'll have to explain what really happened, _the dragon pointed out. _He has a right to know how and why his father died. What might he do once he knows of me?_

Saphira's words whirled around inside Evangeline's mind, but she shrank from the idea of forsaking Palancar Valley; it was her home. Yet the thought of enacting vengeance on the strangers was fiercely comforting.

_Am I strong enough for this?_ the girl asked.

_You have me, _Saphira stated simply.

Doubt immediately besieged the slender brunette: it would be such a wild, desperate thing to do, but contempt for her indecision rose and a harsh smile danced upon her lips. Saphira was right: nothing mattered anymore except the act itself, and what would give her more satisfaction than hunting down the strangers who had murdered her uncle? A terrible energy and strength began to grow in her, grabbing her emotions and forging them into a solid bar of hatred with one word engraved on it: revenge. Her head pounded as she solidified her conviction.

_I'll do it, but first I need to do a few things,_ the girl stated firmly, eyes flashing with rage as she severed the contact with Saphira and rolled out of bed; her her body was tense like a coiled spring but her shoulders were squared and her head was held high. It was still early morning; she had only slept a few hours. _Nothing is more dangerous than an enemy with nothing to lose, which is what I have become._

Yesterday, she'd had difficulty walking upright, but now she moved confidently, held in place by her iron will.

The pain her body sent to her was defied and ignored.

As she crept out of the room, she heard the murmur of two people talking: curious, she stopped to listen as Elain spoke in a gentle voice,.

"…place to stay," the woman sighed. "We have room."

Horst answered inaudibly in his bass rumble.

"Yes, the poor girl," Elain replied, sounding extremely sad and worried. "I've never seen her eyes look like that before, and I don't just mean the frightening reddish color they shifted to... it was almost as if something inside her had died, and the missing piece was showing through her eyes."

This time Evangeline could hear Horst's response.

"Maybe…" there was a long pause. "I've been thinking about what Evangeline said, and I'm not sure she told us everything."

"What do you mean?" Elain asked with concern in her voice.

"When we started for their farm, the road was scraped smooth by the board she dragged Garrow on," the man explained. "Then we reached a place where the snow was all trampled and churned up. Her footprints and signs of the board stopped there, but we also saw the same giant tracks from the farm... and what about her legs? I can't believe that she didn't notice losing that much skin, but I didn't want to push her for answers earlier because she seemed like she'd break into a million pieces if I tried; but now I think I will. We have to know what's going on, Love... we have to."

"Maybe what she saw scared her so much that she doesn't want to talk about it," Elain suggested. "You saw how distraught she was."

"That still doesn't explain how she managed to get Garrow nearly all the way here without leaving any tracks," Horst pointed out.

_Saphira was right,_ Evangeline realized, continuing through the house and tensing whenever the floor creaked. _It's time to leave... there are too many questions coming from too many people, so sooner or later they'll find the answers._ _I don't need a horse because Saphira will be my steed... but she needs a saddle. She can hunt for both of us, too, so I don't have to worry about food—though I should get some anyway. Whatever else I need, I can find buried in our house... now, the only thing left is right in front of me: I need to do something about my hair._

She went to Gedric's tanning vats on the outskirts of Carvahall. The vile smell made her cringe, but she kept moving, heading for a shack set into the side of a hill where the cured hides were stored. She got down on her knees and pulled her long, glossy braid out in front of her: she looked at it for a moment, then took her hunting knife from her belt and began to hack her long hair off, wincing at the unexpected pain that shot through her scalp.

She hadn't realized that cutting her hair like this would hurt so much, but she decided to leave her bangs alone so they'd hide her eyes.

When her long hair was completely chopped off and the glistening tresses had literally exploded out around her ears like a cloud, she got to her feet and shook her head before touching the reddish brown locks: they now ended just where her shoulders began. Once she was certain her hair was short enough, the girl cut down three large ox hides from the rows of skins hanging from the ceiling. The thievery made her feel guilty.

_It's not really stealing,_ she reasoned with herself. _I'll pay Gedric back someday, along with Horst. _

She rolled up the thick leather and took it to a stand of trees away from the village. She wedged the hides between the branches of a tree, then returned to Carvahall. She headed toward the tavern, intending to get some provisions there, but then she smiled tightly and reversed direction: if she was going to steal, then it might as well be from Sloan. She stealthily snuck up to the butcher's house: the front door was barred whenever Sloan wasn't there, but the side door was secured with only a thin chain, which she broke easily. The rooms inside were dark, so she waited for her eyes to adjust before she grabbed as many hard piles of meat wrapped in cloth. She then hurried back to the street and furtively closed the door.

A woman shouted her name nearby and she gripped the meat tighter to keep from dropping it, ducking behind a corner.

She shivered as Horst walked between two houses not even six feet away from her hiding place.

Evangeline ran as soon as Horst was out of sight: her legs burned as she pounded down an alley and back to the trees. She slipped between the tree trunks, and then turned to see if she was being pursued; no one was there. Relieved, she reached into the tree for the leather.

It was gone.

"Going somewhere?" a gruff voice asked; Evangeline whirled around and blinked when Brom scowled at her angrily, an ugly wound resting on the side of his head. A short sword hung at his belt in a brown sheath, and the hides were in his hands. Evangeline's eyes immediately narrowed in irritation, shifting from honey amber to an alarming shade of lime green. How had the old man managed to sneak up on her? Everything had been so quiet that she would have sworn that no one was around.

"Give them back," she demanded.

"Why? So you can run off before Garrow is even buried?" Brom scoffed; the accusation was sharp.

"It's none of your business!" she snapped, temper flashing in her eyes. "Why did you follow me?"

"I didn't," Brom grunted, peering at her cropped hair with furrowed brows. "I've been waiting for you here. Now where are you going?"

"Nowhere!" Evangeline squeaked, lunging for the skins and grabbing them from Brom's hands; the old man did nothing to stop her.

"I hope you have enough meat to feed your dragon," he stated slyly, cocking an eyebrow when Evangeline froze.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, trying to keep the fear off her face.

"Don't fool with me. I know where the mark on your body, the _gedwëy ignasia_, the shining tattoo, comes," Brom retorted, crossing his arms. "You've touched the dragon hatchling that was meant for you. I know why you came to me with those questions, and I know that the Riders live once more."

Evangeline dropped the leather and the meat, large eyes going wide with fright.

_It's finally happened! _the girl realized, backing away in horror. _I have to get out of here! I can't run faster than him with my injured legs, but if… Saphira!_

For a few agonizing seconds she didn't get an answer, but then...

_Yes? _the dragon asked.

_We've_ _been discovered! I need your help!_ Evangeline sent the dragon a picture of where she was, and Saphira took off immediately.

Now she had to stall Brom.

"How did you find out?" she asked in a hollow voice; Brom stared into the distance and moved his lips soundlessly, as if he were talking to someone.

"There were clues and hints everywhere; I only had to pay attention," the man explained, staring at her with glittering amber eyes. "Anyone with the right knowledge could have done the same... but tell me, how is your dragon?"

_"She,"_ Evangeline replied, "is fine. We weren't at the farm when the strangers came."

"Ah, your legs," he sighed, nodding. "You were flying?"

_How did Brom figure that out? What if the strangers coerced him into doing this? Maybe they want him to discover where I'm going so they can ambush us… Where is Saphira?_ She reached out with her mind and found her circling far overhead. _What are you doing?! Please, come!_

_No, I will watch for a time, _the dragon murmured.

_Why?! _Evangeline squealed, pale face going white with fright.

_Because of the slaughter at Dorú Areaba, and the Prophecy of Lost Souls, _Saphira stated bluntly.

_What? _the brunette asked, blinking in puzzlement at the strange answer.

"I have talked with her, and she has agreed to stay above us until we settle our differences," Brom explained, leaning against a tree with a slight smile on his weathered face. "As you can see, you really don't have any choice but to answer my questions. Now tell me, where are you going?"

Bewildered, Evangeline put a hand to her forehead. How could Brom speak to Saphira? Her head was beginning to throb; ideas were whirling through her mind, but she kept reaching the same conclusion: she had to tell the old man something.

"I was going to find a safe place to stay while I heal," she retorted.

"And after that?" the man demanded; the question couldn't be ignored. The throbbing in her head grew increasingly worse, making it impossible to think; nothing seemed clear anymore. All she really wanted to do was tell someone about the events of the past few months. It tore at her heart that her secret had caused Garrow's death, so she finally gave up and looked at the man with burning anger in her eyes.

"I was going to hunt down the strangers and kill them," she stated coldly.

"A mighty task for one so young... and a _woman_ as well," Brom replied in a normal tone, as if Evangeline had proposed the most obvious and suitable thing to do. "Certainly a worthy endeavor and one you are fit to carry out, yet it strikes me that help would not be unwelcome."

"Eh?" Evangeline asked blankly, not really comprehending what he'd just stated; the man reached behind a bush and pulled out a large pack.

"I'm not going to stay behind while some stripling gets to run around with a dragon," Brom snorted in a gruff tone.

_Is he really offering help, or is it a trap?_ Evangeline wondered, feeling afraid of what her mysterious enemies could do. _Brom convinced Saphira to trust him, and they've talked through the mind touch. If she isn't worried…_ _I'll put my suspicions aside for the present._

"I'd welcome any help I can get," the girl reluctantly admitted.

"Then we'd best be going," Brom stated, face going blank for a moment. "I think you will find that your dragon will listen to you again."

_Saphira?_ Evangeline asked.

_Yes?_ the dragon responded curiously; the girl resisted the urge to question her.

_Will you meet us at the farm? _she inquired.

_Yes, _the dragon replied. _So you reached an agreement?_

I_ guess so, _Evangeline muttered, frowning when Saphira broke contact and soared away; she glanced at Carvahall and saw people running from house to house. "I think they're looking for me."

"Probably," Brom agreed, raising an eyebrow. "Shall we go?"

"Um..." Evangeline hesitated, "I'd like to leave a message for Roran. It doesn't seem right to run off without telling him why."

"It's been taken care of," Brom assured her. "I left a letter for him with Gertrude, explaining a few things. I also cautioned him to be on guard for certain dangers. Is that satisfactory?"

Evangeline nodded before she wrapped the leather around the meat and started off. They were careful to stay out of sight until they reached the road, then they quickened their pace, eager to distance themselves from Carvahall. Evangeline plowed ahead determinedly, her legs burning. The mindless rhythm of walking freed her mind to think.

_Once we get home, I won't travel any farther with Brom until I get some answers,_ she told herself firmly. _I hope he can tell me more about the Riders and whom I'm fighting._

As the wreckage of the farm came into view, Brom's eyes clouded with anger: Evangeline was dismayed to see how swiftly nature was reclaiming the farm. Snow and dirt were already piled inside the house, concealing the violence of the strangers' attack. All that remained of the barn was a rapidly eroding rectangle of soot. Brom's head snapped up as the sound of Saphira's wings drifted over the trees: she dove past them from behind, almost brushing their heads and they staggered as a wall of air buffeted them. Saphira's scales sparkled like diamonds as she wheeled over the farm and landed gracefully. Brom stepped forward with an expression both solemn and joyous. His eyes were shining, and a tear shone on his cheek before it disappeared into his beard. He stood there for a long while, breathing heavily as he watched Saphira, and she him.

Evangeline heard him muttering and edged closer to listen.

"So… it starts again, but how and where will it end?" he muttered, eyes shifting in color to an emerald green. "My sight is veiled; I cannot tell if this be tragedy or farce, for the elements of both are here… however it may be, my station is unchanged and I…"

Whatever else he might have said faded away as Saphira proudly approached them. Evangeline passed Brom, pretending she had heard nothing, and wrapped her arms around the dragon's neck: there was something different between them now, as if they had come to know each other even more intimately yet were somehow still strangers. She rubbed Saphira's neck and her palm tingled as their minds touched. The dragon blinked when she saw that Evangeline's long hair had been cropped off above the shoulders, cocking her head to the side before she viewed Brom with interest.

A strong curiosity came from her.

_I've seen no humans except you and Garrow, and he was badly injured,_ she said.

_You've viewed people through my eyes, _the girl pointed out.

_It's not the same, _Saphira sighed, coming closer and turned her long head so that she could inspect Brom with one large silver eye.

_Well, what's it like in person, then? _Evangeline asked, blinking in curiosity.

_Well, for one thing, you really are queer creatures... not even one of you has the same exact face,_ she said critically, continuing to stare at him; Brom held still as she sniffed the air, and then he extended a hand to her. Saphira slowly bowed her head and allowed him to touch her on the brow. With a snort, she jerked back and retreated behind Evangeline. Her tail flicked over the ground.

_What is it?_ Evangeline asked; Saphira didn't answer.

"Evangeline," Brom muttered, turning to the girl before asking in an undertone, "what's her name?"

"Saphira," Evangeline quietly replied; a peculiar expression crossed Brom's face and he ground the butt of his staff into the earth with such force that his knuckles turned white. "Of all the names you gave me, it was the only one she liked... and I think it fits."

"Fit it does," Brom said; there was something in his voice Evangeline could not identify. Was it loss, wonder, fear, envy? She wasn't sure; it could have been none of them or all. Brom raised his voice and said, "Greetings, Saphira. I am honored to meet you."

He twisted his hand in a strange gesture and bowed.

_I like him,_ Saphira said quietly.

_Of course you do,_ Evangeline replied, laughing at the dragon in silence,_ everyone enjoys flattery_.

The gil touched her on the shoulder, but then went to the ruined house. Saphira trailed behind with Brom: the old man looked vibrant and alive.  
Evangeline climbed into the house and crawled under a door into what was left of her room: she barely recognized it under the piles of shattered wood. Guided by memory, she searched where the inside wall had been and found her empty pack: part of the frame was broken, but the damage could be easily repaired. She kept rummaging and eventually uncovered the end of her bow, which was still in its buckskin tube... and although the leather was scuffed and scratched, she was pleased to see that the oiled wood was unharmed.

_Finally, some good luck, _she muttered silently, stringing the bow and pulling on the sinew experimentally: it bent smoothly, without any snaps or creaks. Feeling satisfied, she hunted for her quiver which she found buried nearby: unfortunately, many of the arrows were broken. She unstrung the bow and handed it to Brom with the quiver.

"It takes a strong arm to pull that," the old man noted; Evangeline took the compliment silently as she picked through the rest of the house, searching for other useful items and dumping the collection next to Brom. It was a meager pile. "What now?"

The man's eyes were sharp and inquisitive. Evangeline looked away.

"We find a place to hide," the girl explained.

"Do you have somewhere in mind?" Brom asked.

"Yes," she murmured, wrapping all the supplies except for her bow into a tight bundle and tying it shut. Hefting it onto her back, the girl silently headed into the forest and sent a message to her dragon. _Saphira, follow us in the air... your footprints are too easily found and tracked._

_Very well,_ she replied, taking off behind them.

Their destination was nearby, but Evangeline took a circuitous route in an effort to baffle any pursuers. It was well over an hour before she finally stopped in a well-concealed bramble. The irregular clearing in the center was just large enough for a fire, two people, and a dragon. Red squirrels scampered into the trees, chattering in protest at their intrusion. Brom extricated himself fro a thorny vine and looked around with interest.

"Does anyone else know of this?" he asked.

"Nobody but Roran," Evangeline replied in a monotone. "I found it when we first moved here. It took me a week to dig into the center, and another week to clear out all the dead wood."

Saphira landed beside them and folded her wings, careful to avoid the thorns. She curled up, snapping twigs with her hard scales, and rested her head on the ground: her unreadable silver eyes followed them closely. Brom leaned against his staff and fixed his gaze on the small girl, but his scrutiny made Evangeline nervous. The brunette watched the two of them until hunger forced her into action: she built a fire, filled a pot with snow, and then set it over the flames to melt. When the water was hot, she tore off chunks of meat and dropped them into the pot with a lump of salt.

_Not much of a meal,_ she thought grimly, _but it'll do. I'll probably be eating this for some time to come, so I might as well get used to it._

The stew simmered quietly, spreading a rich aroma through the clearing: the tip of Saphira's tongue snaked out and tasted the air. When the meat was tender, Brom came over and Evangeline served the food. They ate silently, avoiding each others eyes, and Brom pulled out his pipe and leisurely lit it afterwards.

"Why do you want to travel with me?" Evangeline asked, looking up at him with dull amber eyes; a cloud of smoke left Brom's lips and spiraled up through the trees until it disappeared.

"I have a vested interest in keeping you alive," he said.

"What do you mean?" Evangeline demanded.

"To put it bluntly, I'm a storyteller and I happen to think that you would make a fine story," Brom sighed, staring at her with hard eyes. "You're the first Rider in general to exist outside of the king's control for over a hundred years. If you counted the fact that you're a young woman... well, you'd be the first _Female_ Rider to exist outside the king's control for over six hundred and fifty years. What will happen? Will you perish as a martyr? Will you join the Varden? Or will you kill King Galbatorix? All fascinating questions; and I will be there to see every bit of it, no matter what I have to do."

A knot formed in Evangeline's chest: she couldn't see herself doing any of those things, least of all becoming a martyr.

"That may be, but tell me, how can you talk with Saphira?" the girl demanded.

Brom took his time putting more tobacco in his pipe. Once it was relit and firmly in his mouth, he looked at her knowingly.

"Very well, if it's answers you want, it is answers you'll get; but they may not be to your liking," the man muttered before he got up, brought his pack over to the fire, and pulled out a long object wrapped in cloth. It was about three and a half feet long, and, from the way he handled it, rather heavy.  
He peeled back the cloth, strip by strip, like a mummy being unwrapped. Evangeline gazed, transfixed, as a sword was revealed. The gold pommel was teardrop shaped with the sides cut away to reveal a ruby the size of a small egg. The hilt was wrapped in silver wire, burnished until it gleamed like starlight. The sheath was wine red and smoother than glass, adorned solely by a strange black symbol etched into it. Next to the sword was a leather belt with a heavy buckle: then the last strip fell away, and Brom passed the weapon to Evangeline.

The handle fit into Evangeline's small hand as if it had been made for her and she slowly drew the sword; it slid soundlessly from the sheath. The flat blade was iridescent red and shimmered in the firelight. The keen edges curved gracefully to a sharp point. A duplicate of the black symbol was inscribed on the metal. The balance of the sword was perfect; it felt like an extension of her arm, unlike the crude farm tools she was used too. An air of power lay over it, as if an unstoppable force resided in its core. It had been created for the violent convulsions of battle, to end the lives of men.

Yet, at the same time, it held a terrible beauty.

"This was once a Rider's blade," Brom stated gravely, watching as Evangeline hesitantly swung the sword. "When a Rider finished his, or _her,_ training, the elves would present that person with a sword. Their methods of forging have always remained a secret. However, their swords are eternally sharp and will never stain. The custom was to have the blade's color match that of the Rider's dragon, but I think we can make an exception in this case. This sword is named _Zar'roc..._ I don't know what it means; probably something personal to the Rider who owned it."

"Where did you get it?" Evangeline asked, timidlyslipping the blade back into the sheath before attempting to hand the sword back.

Brom made no move to take it.

"It doesn't matter," Brom explained, gazing straight into her amber eyes. "I will only say that it took me a series of nasty and dangerous adventures to attain it. Consider it yours: you have more of a claim to it than I do. And before all is done, I think you will need it."

The offer caught Evangeline off guard.

"It's a wonderful gift, thank you." Unsure of what to say, she absently ran a hand through her shortened hair.

"By the way, for what reason did you chop your hair off?" Brom inquired curiously.

"What? Oh, I was actually planning on traveling around with a new identity. I was, er…" She blushed scarlet, "I was going to pose as a boy. That way I could travel without any sick-minded tramps getting any ideas."

Brom stared, and then burst out laughing.

Evangeline planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"What? I thought it was a good idea," she complained

"Sorry, sorry. It's just that… well, if _you_ posed as a boy, you'd be the most feminine-looking male I've ever seen," the man chuckled. "If you really want to pose as a young man, you'll have to act like one as well."

Evangeline nodded absently, sliding her hand down the sheath of _Zar'roc_.

"What is this symbol?" she asked.

"That was the Rider's personal crest," Brom explained; when Evangeline tried to interrupt, he glared at her until she was quiet. "Now, if you must know, anyone can learn how to speak to a dragon if they have the proper training. And," he raised a finger for emphasis, "it doesn't mean anything if they can. I know more about the dragons and their abilities than almost anyone else alive. On your own it might take years to learn what I can teach you. I'm offering my knowledge as a shortcut. As for how I know so much, I will keep that to myself."

Saphira pulled herself up as he finished speaking and prowled over to Evangeline. She pulled out the blade and showed Saphira the sword. It has power, the dragon said quietly, touching the point with her nose. The metal's iridescent color rippled like water as it met her scales. She lifted her head with a satisfied snort, and the sword resumed its normal appearance. Evangeline sheathed it, looking troubled when Brom raised an eyebrow.

"That's the sort of thing I'm talking about," the man explained, watching how the girl blinked and stared at him. "Dragons will constantly amaze you. Things… happen around them, mysterious things that are impossible anywhere else. Even though the Riders worked with dragons for centuries, they never completely understood their abilities. Some say that even the dragons don't know the full extent of their own powers. They are linked with this land in a way that lets them overcome great obstacles. What Saphira just did illustrates my earlier point: there is much you don't know."

There was a long pause.

"That may be," Evangeline finally sighed, "but I can learn; and the strangers are the most important thing I need to know about right now. Do you have any idea who they are?"

"They are called the Ra'zac," Brom explained, taking a deep breath. "Nobody knows if that's the name of their race or what they have chosen to call themselves... either way, if they have individual names, they keep them hidden. The Ra'zac were never seen before Galbatorix came to power. He must have found them during his travels and enlisted them in his service. Little or nothing is known about them. However, I can tell you this: they aren't human. When I glimpsed one's head, it appeared to have something resembling a beak and black eyes as large as my fist—though how they manage our speech is a mystery to me. Doubtless the rest of their bodies are just as twisted. That is why they cover themselves with cloaks at all times, regardless of the weather. As for their powers, they are stronger than any man and can jump incredible heights, but they cannot use magic. Be thankful for that, because if they would, you would already be in their grasp. I also know that they have a strong aversion to sunlight, though it wouldn't stop them if they're determined. Do not make the mistake of underestimating a Ra'zac, for they are cunning and full of guile."

"How many of them are there?" Evangeline asked, wondering how Brom could possibly know so much.

"As far as I know, only the two you saw... there might be more, but I've never heard of them," Brom grunted, shrugging a little. "Perhaps they're the last of a dying race. You see, they are the king's personal dragon hunters: whenever rumors reach Galbatorix of a dragon in the land, he sends the Ra'zac to investigate. A trail of death often follows them."

Brom blew a series of smoke rings and watched them float up between the brambles; Evangeline ignored the rings until she noticed that they were changing color and darting around. Brom winked at her slyly when her mouth dropped open in surprise. Evangeline was sure that no one had seen Saphira, so how could Galbatorix have heard about her? When she voiced her objections, Brom shook his head.

"You're right, it seems unlikely that anyone from Carvahall could have informed the king," the man agreed. "Why don't you tell me where you got the egg and how you raised Saphira? That might clarify the issue."

Evangeline hesitated for only a moment before she recounted all the events since she had found the egg in the Spine. It felt wonderful to finally confide in someone. Brom asked a few questions, but most of the time he listened intently. The sun was about to set when Evangeline finished her tale. Both of them were quiet as the clouds turned a soft pink. Evangeline eventually broke the silence.

"I just wish I knew where she came from," the girl mumbled, looking around the clearing. "Saphira doesn't remember."

"I don't know… you've made many things clear to me," Brom explained, cocking his head. "I am sure that no one besides us has seen Saphira. The Ra'zac must have had a source of information outside of this valley, one who is probably dead by now. You've had an extremely hard time and done much, though, so quite frankly... I'm impressed with you."

"Thank you for the praise," Evangeline murmured, staring off into space. "What happened to your head? It looks like you were hit with a rock."

"No, but that's a good guess." the man said wryly before He took a deep pull on his pipe. "I was sneaking around the Ra'zac's camp after dark, trying to learn what I could, when they surprised me in the shadows. It was a good trap, but they underestimated me, and I managed to drive them away. Not, however, without this token of my stupidity. Stunned, I fell to the ground and didn't regain consciousness until the next day... but by then they had already arrived at your farm. It was too late to stop them, but I set out after them anyway. That's when I found you collapsed on the road."

_Who is he to think that he could take on the Ra'zac alone? They ambushed him in the dark, and he was only stunned?_ Evangeline wondered.

"When you saw the mark, the gedwëy ignasia, on my hand, why didn't you tell me who the Ra'zac were?" she asked hotly. "I would have warned Garrow instead of going to Saphira first, and the three of us could have fled."

"I was unsure of what to do at the time," Brom sighed, looking away from her expression. "I thought I could keep the Ra'zac away from you and, once they had left, confront you about Saphira... but they outsmarted me. It's a mistake that I deeply regret, and one that has cost you dearly."

"Who _are_ you?" Evangeline demanded, suddenly feeling extremely bitter and confused about everything. "How is it that a mere village storyteller happens to have a Rider's sword? How do you know about the Ra'zac? How is it possible?!"

"Evangeline," Brom muttered, tapping his pipe, "I thought I made it clear I wasn't going to talk about that."

"My uncle is dead because of this! _Dead!"_ Evangeline shrieked angrily, slashing a hand through the air. "I've trusted you this far because Saphira respects you, and _mostly_ because you've been my friend longer than anyone else in Carvahall! However, I can't do it anymore because you're not being honest with me like you used to! You're not the person I've known in Carvahall for all these years, so explain yourself! Please, Brom!"

Evangeline was nearly in tears.

For a long time Brom stared at the smoke swirling between them, deep lines creasing his forehead: when he stirred, it was only to take another puff.

"You've probably never thought about it, but most of my life has been spent outside of Palancar Valley," he finally said, lowering his eyes and looking at her trembling lips in dismay. "It was only in Carvahall that I took up the mantle of storyteller. I have played many roles to different people—I've a complicated past. It was partly through a desire to escape it that I came here. So now, I'm not the man you think I am."

"Then who are you?" Evangeline whined, shaking her head.

"I am one who is here to help you," Brom replied, smiling at her gently. "Do not scorn those words—they are the truest I've ever spoken. But I'm not going to answer your questions. At this point you don't need to hear my history, nor have you earned that right. Yes, I have knowledge that Brom the storyteller wouldn't, but I'm more than he. You'll have to learn to live with that fact, and the fact that I don't hand out descriptions of my life to anyone who asks!"

Evangeline gazed at him with emotionless eyes.

"I'm going to sleep, then," she said quietly, leaving the fire; Brom didn't seem surprised, but there was sorrow in his eyes. He spread his bedroll next to the fire as Evangeline lay beside Saphira, and an icy silence soon fell over the camp


	10. Chapter 9: Therinsford

**Chapter Nine: Therinsford**

When Evangeline's eyes opened, the memory of Garrow's death crashed down on her so she pulled the blankets over her head and cried quietly under their warm darkness. It felt good to just lie there… to hide from the world outside, but eventually the tears stopped, and she reluctantly wiped her cheeks before getting up for the day. The brunette saw that Brom was making breakfast when she sat up.

"Good morning," he said, giving her a scrutinizing look; Evangeline murmured a reply and jammed her cold fingers into her armpits, crouching low by the fire until the food was ready. They ate it quickly, trying to consume the food before it lost its warmth. When she was finished, Evangeline washed her bowl with snow. Then she spread the stolen leather on the ground.

"What are you going to do with that, Evangeline?" Brom asked. "We can't carry it with us."

"My name isn't Evangeline anymore; call me Eragon from now on," the girl retorted. "If you must know, I'm going to make a saddle for Saphira."

"Mmm," Brom said, slowly moving forward. "Well, dragons used to have two kinds of saddles. The first was hard and molded like a horse's saddle, but those take time and tools to make; neither of which we have. The other was thin and lightly padded: nothing more than an extra layer between the Rider and dragon. Those saddles were used when ever speed and flexibility were important, though they weren't nearly as comfortable."

"Do you know what they looked like?" Evangeline asked.

"Better, I can make one," the man chuckled with a gleam in his eye.

"Then please do," Evangeline said coldly, standing aside.

"Very well, but pay attention: someday you may have to do this for yourself... _Eragon," _the man stated, cocking an amused eyebrow when Evangeline blushed at his sarcasm. With Saphira's permission, Brom measured her neck and chest before cutting five bands out of the leather, and outlines of a dozen or so shapes on the hides. Once the pieces had been sliced out, he cut what remained of the hides into long cords. Brom used the cords to sew everything together, but for each stitch, two holes had to be bored through the leather: Evangeline helped with that.

Intricate knots were rigged in place of buckles, and every strap was made extremely long so the saddle would still fit Saphira in the coming months.  
The main part of the saddle was assembled from three identical sections sewn together with padding from three identical sections sewn together with padding between them. Attached to the front was a thick loop that would fit snugly around one of Saphira's neck spikes, while wide bands sewn on either side would wrap around her belly and tie underneath. Taking the place of stirrups were a series of loops running down both bands.

Tightened, they would hold Evangeline's legs in place.

A long strap was constructed to pass between Saphira's front legs, split in two, and then come up behind her front legs to rejoin the saddle. While Brom worked, Evangeline repaired her pack and organized their supplies: the day was completely spent by the time their tasks were completed. Weary from his labor, Brom put the saddle on Saphira to see that the straps fit. He made a few small adjustments, then took it off, satisfied.

"You did an amazing job," Evangeline acknowledged solemnly.

"One tries his best," Brom murmured, inclining his head. "It should serve you well; the leather's sturdy enough."

_Aren't you going to try it out?_ Saphira asked.

_Maybe tomorrow,_ Evangeline replied, storing the saddle with her blankets. _It's too late now. _

Truth be told, she wasn't eager to fly again—not after the disastrous outcome of her last attempt.

Dinner was made quickly. It tasted good even though it was simple. While they ate, Brom looked over the fire at Evangeline.

"Will we leave tomorrow?" he asked.

"There isn't any reason to stay," she replied, her voice sounding lifeless: her eyes had reflected nothing of her emotions since Garrow had died—almost as if a light inside of her had gone out. The only indication to her emotions were the subtle shifts in her eye-color.

"I suppose not…" the man muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "Evangeline, I must apologize about how events have turned out. I never wished for this to happen. Your family did not deserve such a tragedy, and if there were anything I could do to reverse it, I would. This is a terrible situation for all of you."

"Don't ever call me that again," Evangeline murmured softly, staring at the fire with haunted eyes. "Evangeline will always be my true name, but while we're traveling and while I'm hunting Garrow's murderers, please... call me Eragon. Evangeline is the name of somebody who was broken: I don't want to be that person anymore, so please... heed my request. It's the only thing I'm going to insist upon."

"Alright," the man conceded, looking a little depressed by her words, "but if we're going to travel, we'll need horses."

"Maybe you do, but I have Saphira," the girl murmured.

"There isn't a horse alive that can outrun a flying dragon, and Saphira is too young to carry us both," Brom scoffed, shaking his head. "Besides, it'll be safer if we stay together, and riding is faster than walking."

"That'll make it harder to catch the Ra'zac, though" Evangeline pointed out. "On Saphira, I could probably find them within a day or two; on horses, it'll take much longer—if it's even possible to overtake their lead on the ground."

"That's a chance you'll have to take if I'm to accompany you," Brom said slowly, watching as Evangeline thought it over.

"All right," she murmured, "we'll get horses, but you have to buy them. I don't have any money, and I don't want to steal again; it's wrong."

"That depends on your point of view," Brom corrected with a slight smile. "Before you set out on this venture, remember that your enemies are the king's servants. They will be protected wherever they go, and laws do not stop them: in cities, they'll have access to abundant resources and willing servants. Also keep in mind that nothing is more important to Galbatorix than recruiting you or killing you—although word of your existence probably hasn't reached him yet. The longer you evade the Ra'zac, the more desperate he'll become. He'll know you'll be growing stronger, and each passing moment will give you another chance to join his enemies. You must be very careful... _Eragon,_ as you may easily turn from the hunter into the hunted."

Evangeline was subdued by the strong words: looking Pensive, she rolled a twig between her fingers.

"Enough talk," said Brom. "It's late, and my back aches. We can say more tomorrow."

Evangeline nodded and banked the fire.

**TXXXXXT**

Dawn was gray and overcast with a cutting wind. The forest was quiet. After a light breakfast, Brom and Evangeline doused the fire and shouldered their packs, preparing to leave. Evangeline hung her bow and quiver on the side of her pack, where she could easily reach them. Saphira wore the saddle; she would have to carry it until they got horses. Evangeline carefully tied Zar'roc onto her back, as well, as she didn't want the extra weight.

Besides, in _her_ hands the sword would be no better than a _club._

Evangeline had felt safe inside the bramble, but once she was outside, wariness crept into her movements: Saphira took off and circled overhead, and the trees thinned as they returned to the farm.

_I'll see this place again,_ Evangeline vowed to herself, looking at the ruined buildings. _This cannot, and will not, be a permanent exile. Someday when it's safe, I'll return. Straightening her shoulders, she faced south and the strange, barbaric lands that lay there._

As they walked, Saphira veered west toward the mountains and out of sight. Evangeline felt uncomfortable as she watched her go: even now, with no one around, they couldn't spend their days together. She had to stay hidden in case they met a fellow traveler. The Ra'zac's footprints were faint on the eroding snow, but Evangeline was unconcerned: it was unlikely that they had forsaken the road—which was the easiest way out of the valley—for the wilderness. Once outside the valley, however, the road divided in several places.

It would be difficult to ascertain which branch the Ra'zac had taken.

They traveled in silence, concentrating on speed. Evangeline's legs continued to bleed where the scabs had cracked. To take her mind off the pain, she turned to look at Brom.

"Hey, do I _walk_ like a girl as well as _look_ like one?" she asked sarcastically. "Or, will I have to work on _that,_ too?"

"You walk as well as any boy I've ever seen," Brom laughed, eying her hips and nodding when he noticed that she didn't sashay. "It must be the fact that you've never worn a woman's dress... you probably would have had a great challenge in walking like a man if you had."

Evangeline scowled, then changed the subject.

"So, what exactly can dragons do?" she asked. "You said that you knew something of their abilities."

Brom laughed again, his sapphire ring flashing in the air as he gestured.

"Unfortunately, it's a pitiful amount compared to what I would like to know," the man explained, shaking his head. "Your question is one that people have been trying to answer for centuries, so understand that what I tell you is, by its very nature, incomplete. Dragons have always been extremely mysterious, although maybe not on purpose. Before I can truly answer your question, you need a basic education on the subject of dragons. It's hopelessly confusing to start in the middle of such a complex topic without understanding the foundation on which it stands. I'll begin with the life cycle of dragons, and if that doesn't wear you out, then we'll continue to another topic."

Brom then proceeded to explain how dragons mated and what it took for their eggs to hatch.

"You see," the man told her, eying her interested expression, "when a dragon lays an egg, the infant inside is ready to hatch, but it waits—sometimes for years—for the right circumstances. When dragons lived in the wild, those circumstances were usually dictated by the availability of food. However, once they formed an alliance with the elves, a certain number of their eggs, usually no more than one or two, were given to the Riders each year. The eggs, or rather the infants inside, wouldn't hatch until the person destined to be its Rider came into their presence—though how they sensed that isn't known. People used to line up to touch the eggs, hoping that one of them might be picked."

"Do you mean that Saphira might not have hatched for me?" Evangeline asked in surprise.

"Quite possibly, if she hadn't like you," the man admitted.

"Wow," the girl murmured; she felt honored that of all the people in Alagaësia, Saphira had chosen her. Evangeline wondered how long the dragon had been waiting, but then shuddered at the thought of being cramped inside an egg, surrounded by darkness. Brom continued his lecture: he explained what and when dragons ate. A fully grown sedentary dragon could for months without food, but in mating season they had to eat every week. Some plants could heal their sicknesses, while others would make them ill. There were various ways to care for their claws and clean their scales. He explained the techniques to use when attacking from a dragon and what to do if you were fighting one, whether on foot, horseback, or with another dragon. There bellies were armored; their armpits were not. Evangeline constantly interrupted to ask questions, but Brom seemed pleased by the inquiries. Hours passed unheeded as they talked.

When evening came, they were near Therinsford.

As the sky darkened and they searched for a place to camp, Evangeline thought of the sword.

"Who was the Rider that owned Zar'roc?" she asked, shooting him a curious look.

"A mighty warrior," Brom carefully explained, "who was feared by everyone in his time and held great power."

"What was his name?" the girl asked.

"I'll not say," the man retorted; Evangeline immediately shot him a protesting expression, but Brom was firm. "I don't want to keep you ignorant; far from it. But certain knowledge would only prove dangerous and distracting for you right now. There isn't any reason for me to trouble you with such things until you have the time and power to deal with them. I only wish to protect you from those who would use you for evil."

"You know what? I think you just enjoy speaking in riddles," Evangeline snapped, glaring at him with eyes that rippled to crystal blue. "If you're going to say something, then just say it instead of dancing around with vague phrases!"

"Peace. All will be told in time," Brom said gently.

Evangeline sighed, unconvinced.

They found a comfortable place to spend the night and set up camp. Saphira joined them as dinner was being set on the fire.

_Did you have time to hunt for food?_ the brunette asked softly, eyes taking on a gentle expression.

_If the two of you were any slower, _Saphira snorted with amusement, _I would have time to fly across the sea and back without falling behind._

_Hey, you don't have to be insulting,_ the girl pouted. _Besides, we'll go faster once we have horses._

She let out a puff of smoke.

_Maybe, but will it be enough to catch the Ra'zac? They have a lead of several days and many leagues. I'm also afraid they may suspect we're following them. Why else would they have destroyed the farm in such a spectacular manner, unless they wished to provoke you into chasing them?_

_I don't know,_ Evangeline replied, feeling a little disturbed by the revelation that they might have done it on purpose for that very reason; Saphira curled up beside her and she leaned against the dragon's belly, welcoming the warmth. Brom sat on the other side of the fire, whittling two long sticks. He suddenly threw one at Evangeline, who snatched it out of reflex as it whirled over the crackling flames.

"Defend yourself, girl!" Brom barked, immediately standing upright; Evangeline looked at the stick in her hand and saw that it was shaped in the crude likeness of a sword. Brom wanted to fight her? Why would he suddenly challenge her unless he had a chance?

_If he wants to play this game, so be it, _the girl muttered reluctantly, _but if he thinks to beat me, he's in for a surprise._

She rose as Brom circled the fire: they faced each other for a moment; then Brom charged, swinging the stick he held in his hand. Evangeline tried to block the attack, but was too slow. She let out a yelp as Brom struck her on the ribs, and stumbled backward. Without thinking, she leaped forward, but Brom easily parried the blow. Evangeline whipped the stick towards Brom's head, twisted it at the last moment, and then tried to hit his side. The solid smack of wood striking wood resounded through the camp.

"Improvisation—good!" Brom exclaimed, amber eyes gleaming; his arm moved in a blur, and there was an explosion of pain on the side of her head. The slender girl collapsed like an empty sack, feeling dazed until a splash of cold water roused her to alertness. The girl instantly sat up, sputtering as she choked on the water: her head was ringing, and there was dried blood on her face. Brom stood over her with a pan of melted snow water.

"You didn't have to do that," Evangeline angrily squeaked, struggling to push herself up: she felt dizzy and unsteady.

"Oh?" Brom asked, arching an eyebrow before he picked up the stick that she had dropped and held it out. "A real enemy wouldn't soften his blows, and neither will I. Should I lighten up just because you're an incompetent _girl?_ Should I stop so you'll _feel_ better? I don't think so: defend yourself."

Evangeline stared blankly at the piece of wood, but then shook her head.

"Forget it, I've had enough," she retorted, turning away—only to stumbled as she was whacked painfully across the back; she let out a squeak as the stinging pain left a welt before she spun around, amber eyes flashing to a startling electric blue as she glared at the old man in rage. "What's wrong with you?! That really _hurt!"_

"Never turn your back on the enemy!" Brom snapped, then tossed the stick at her and attack; Evangeline caught the branch and hastily retreated around the fire beneath the onslaught and flow of instructions. "Pull your arms in, _Eragon!_ Keep your knees bent!"

Brom continued to give instructions, and then paused to show Evangeline exactly how to execute a certain move.

"Do it again, but this time slowly!"

They slid through the forms with exaggerated motions before returning to their furious battle. Evangeline learned quickly, but no matter what she tried she couldn't hold Brom off for more than a few blows. When they finished, the girl flopped on her blankets and mewled like a kitten: she hurt everywhere—Brom had not been gentle with his stick. Saphira let out a long, coughing growl and curled her lip until a formidable row of teeth showed.

_What's wrong with you?_ the girl demanded irritably.

_Nothing,_ the dragon replied. _It's just funny to see a hatchling like you beaten by the old one._

She made the sound again, and Evangeline flushed scarlet as she realized Saphira was laughing.

Trying to preserve some dignity, she rolled on her side and fell asleep.

**TXXXXXT**

She felt even worse the next day: nasty-looking bruises covered the entirety of her arms and upper torso, she was almost too sore to move, and her head was killing her. Brom looked up from the mush he was serving and grinned when she leered at him, amber eye twitching evilly. She was in a shocking temper at the moment.

"How do you feel?" he cheerfully inquired; Evangeline scowled and bolted down her breakfast so she didn't have to reply.

Once on the road, they traveled swiftly to reach Therinsford before noon; after a league, the road widened and they saw smoke in the distance.

"You'd better tell Saphira to fly ahead and wait for us on the other side of Therinsford," Brom warned, giving her a look. "She has to be careful here, otherwise people are bound to notice her."

"Why don't you tell her yourself?" Evangeline challenged.

"It's considered bad manners to interfere with another's dragon," the man explained.

"You didn't have a problem with it in Carvahall," Evangeline retorted, giving Brom a suspicious look when his lips twitched with a smile.

"I did what I had to," he allowed; Evangeline eyed him darkly, but relayed the instructions.

_Be careful, _Saphira warned, _the Empire's servants could be hiding anywhere._

As the ruts in the road deepened, Evangeline noticed more footprints and farms signaled their approach to Therinsford: the village was larger than Carvahall, but it had been constructed haphazardly, the houses aligned in no particular order.

"What a mess," Evangeline muttered: she couldn't see Dempton's mill, but Baldor and Albriech had most likely fetched Roran by then.

Either way, Evangeline had no wish to face her cousin.

"It's ugly, if nothing else," Brom agreed; the Anora River flowed between them and the town, spanned by a stout bridge. As they approached it, however, a greasy-looking man stepped from behind a bush and barred their way. His shirt was too short, his dirty stomach spilled over a rope belt, and behind his cracked lips were garish yellow teeth that looked like fuzzy, crumbling tombstones. Evangeline shuddered at the sight of his mouth.

"You c'n stop right there," the man sneered. "This's my bridge. Gotta pay t' get over."

"How much?" Brom asked in a resigned voice; when he pulled out a pouch, the bridge-keeper brightened.

"Five crowns," he said, pulling his lips into a broad smile; Evangeline's temper flared at the exorbitant price and she started to complain hotly, but Brom silenced her with a quick look. The coins were wordlessly handed over, and the man put them into a sack hanging from his belt.

"That should suffice," Brom explained.

"Thank'ee much," the ugly man said in a mocking tone, and stood out of the way; as Brom stepped forward, he stumbled and caught the bridge-keeper's arm to support himself. The grimy man immediately sidled away and snarled, "watch y're step!"

"Sorry," Brom apologized, and continued over the bridge with Evangeline.

"Why didn't you haggle? He skinned you alive!" Evangeline exclaimed when they were out of earshot. "He probably doesn't even own the bridge. We could have pushed right past him."

"Probably," Brom agreed.

"Then why pay him?" the girl demanded, looking exasperated.

"Because you can't argue with all of the fools in the world. It's easier to let them have their way, then trick them when they're not paying attention," Brom chuckled, opening his hand: the girl stared when she saw a huge pile of coins glinting in the light.

"You cut his purse!" Evangeline exclaimed, giving the tall old man an incredulous look. Brom pocketed the money with a wink.

"Anyone who gulls innocent travelers for a living ought to know better than to carry such a large sum on his person," the man snorted. "Come; let us be off before our greedy friend realizes what has happened. If you see any watchmen wandering around, let me know."

"If you say so," the girl muttered, still feeling stunned; she watched when Brom grabbed the shoulder of a young boy running between the houses.

"Do you know where we can buy horses?" he asked; the child stared at them with solemn eyes before pointing to a large barn near the edge of Therinsford.

"Thank you," Evangeline sighed, digging around in her pocket and tossing him a gold coin. The barn's double doors were open, revealing two long rows of stalls. The far wall was covered with saddles, harnesses, and other paraphernalia. A man with muscular arms stood at the end, brushing a white stallion. He raised a hand and beckoned for them to come over.

"Well," Brom said as they approached, "That's a beautiful animal."

"Yes indeed! His name's Snowfire, and Mine's Haberth," the muscular man chuckled, offering a rough palm and vigorously shaking hands with first Evangeline and then Brom. There was a polite pause as he waited for their names in return, but when they were not forthcoming, he asked, "Can I help you?"

"Yes," Brom nodded. "We need two horses and a full set of tack for both. The horses have to be fast and tough; we'll be doing a lot of traveling."

Haberth was thoughtful for a moment.

"I don't have many animals like that, and the ones I do aren't cheap," he explained.

The stallion moved restlessly; he calmed it with a few strokes of his fingers.

"Price is no object. I'll take the best you have," Brom explained; Haberth nodded and silently tied the stallion to a stall. He went to a wall and started pulling down saddles and other items. Soon he had two identical piles. Next he walked up the line of stalls and brought out two horses. One was a light bay, the other a roan. The bay tugged against his rope.

"He's a little spirited, but with a firm hand you won't have any problems," Haberth said, handing the bay's rope to Brom. Brom let the horse smell his hand; it allowed him to rub its neck.

"We'll take him," he said, then eyed the roan. "The other one, however, I'm not so sure of."

"There are some good legs on him," the man commented, cocking an eyebrow.

"Mmm…" Brom intoned, glancing at the white horse. "What will you take for Snowfire?"

"I'd rather not sell him," Haberth sighed, looking fondly at the stallion. "He's the finest I've ever bred—I'm hoping to sire a whole line from him."

"If you were willing to part with him, how much would this cost me?" Brom asked; Evangeline tried to put her hand on the bay like Brom had, but it shied away. She automatically reached out with her mind to reassure the horse, but she stiffened in sheer and utter surprise as she touched the animal's consciousness. The contact wasn't clear or sharp like it was with Saphira, but she could definitely communicate with the bay to a limited degree, and that was all she needed. Tentatively, she made it understand that she was a friend: the horse immediately calmed down and looked at her with liquid brown eyes that soon filled with a large amount of trust. Haberth used his fingers to add up the price of the purchase.

"Two hundred crowns and no less," he said with a smile, clearly confident that no one would pay that much.

Brom silently opened his pouch and counted out the money.

"Will this do?" he asked; there was a long silence as Haberth glanced between Snowfire and the coins. Finally, he sighed.

"He is yours, though I go against my heart," the man murmured.

"I will treat him as if he had been sired by Gildintor, the greatest steed of legend," Brom said.

"Your words gladden me," Haberth answered, bowing his head slightly; he helped them saddle the horses, and when they were ready to leave, he said, "farewell, then, friends. For the sake of Snowfire, I hope that misfortune does not befall you."

"Do not fear; I will guard him well," Brom promised as they departed.

"He's a nice man," Evangeline sighed, shaking her bangs out of her eyes.

"Here," Brom said, handing Snowfire's reins to Evangeline, "go to the far side of Therinsford and wait there."

"Why?" Evangeline asked, but Brom had already slipped away. Feeling a little irritated, the girl exited Therinsford with the two horses and stationed herself beside the road. To the south she saw the hazy outline of Utgard, sitting like a giant monolith at the end of the valley. Its peak pierced the clouds and rose out of sight, towering over the lesser mountains that surrounded it. Its dark, ominous look made Evangeline's spine tingle.

Brom returned shortly and gestured for Evangeline to follow. They walked until Therinsford was hidden by trees.

"The Ra'zac definitely passed this way," he explained in a grim tone. "Apparently they stopped here to pick up horses, as we did. I was able to find a man who saw them. He described them with many shudders and said that they galloped out of Therinsford like demons fleeing a holy man."

"They left quite an impression," the girl noted, shivering at the way he'd described them.

"Quite... I have something for you; it should help you to conceal your gender," Brom said, eyes twinkling as he handed her a hat with a pattern similar to a quilt on it. She put it on and absently thanked him before she patted the horses.

"When we were in the barn, I touched the bay's mind by accident," the girl muttered. "I didn't know it was possible to do that."

"It's unusual for one as young as you to have the ability. Most Riders had to train for years before they were strong enough to contact anything other than their dragon," Brom noted with a frown; his face was thoughtful as he inspected Snowfire. "Take everything from your pack, put it into the saddlebags, and tie the pack on top."

Evangeline did so while Brom mounted Snowfire; the girl, however, gazed doubtfully at the bay. It was so much smaller than Saphira that, for an absurd moment, she actually wondered if it could bear her weight. Then she shook off the thought and awkwardly got into the saddle with a sigh: she had only ridden horses bareback, and never for any type of distance.

"Is this going to do the same thing to my legs as riding Saphira?" she hesitantly asked.

"How do they feel now?" the man inquired.

"Not too bad, but I think any hard riding will open them up again," she muttered.

"We'll take it easy," Brom promised; he then gave Evangeline a few pointers, and then they started off at a gentle pace. Before long, the countryside began to change as cultivated fields yielded to wilder land. Brambles and tangled weeds lined the road, along with huge rosebushes that clung to their clothes. Tall rocks slanted out of the ground—gray witnesses to their presence. There was an unfriendly feel in the air, an animosity that resisted intruders. Above them, growing larger with every step, loomed Utgard, its craggy precipices deeply furrowed with snowy canyons. The black rock of the mountain absorbed light like a sponge and dimmed the surrounding area. Between Utgard and the line of mountains that formed the east side of Palancar Valley was a deep cleft. It was the only practical way out of the valley, and the road led toward it. The horses' hooves clacked sharply over gravel, and the road dwindled to a skinny trail as it skirted the base of Utgard. Evangeline glanced up at the peak looming over them and was startled to see a majestic tower perched upon it. The turret was crumbling and in disrepair, yet it was still a stern sentinel over the valley.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing; Brom didn't look up.

"An outpost of the Riders—one that has lasted since their founding," Brom said sadly and with bitterness. "That was where Vrael took refuge, and where, through treachery, he was found and defeated by Galbatorix. When Vrael fell, this area was tainted. _Edoc'sil,_ 'Unconquerable,' was the name of this bastion, for the mountain is so steep that none may reach the top unless they can fly. After Vrael's death, the commoners called it Utgard, but it has another name: _Ristvak'baen—the_ 'Place of Sorrow.' It was known as such to the last Riders before they were killed by the king."

Evangeline gazed at it with solemn wonder: here was a tangible remnant of the Riders' glory, tarnished though it was by the relentless pull of time. It struck her then just how old the Riders were. A legacy of tradition and heroism that stretched back to antiquity had fallen upon her. Suddenly, a voice seemed to whisper in the back of her mind: _although our world's demise hangs above her head, no one can determine how much blood will still be shed…_

Evangeline shook her head uneasily, feeling as though she were shaking off water: she had to be hearing things.

They traveled for long hours around Utgard: it formed a solid wall to their right as they entered the breach that divided the mountain range. Eve stood up in her stirrups; she was eager to see what lay outside of Palancar Valley, but it was still too far away. For a while they were in a sloping pass, winding over a hill and gully, following the Anora River. Finally, with the sun behind their backs, they mounted a rise and saw over the trees.

Evangeline gasped, eyes slowly widening as her eyes lit up with unholy shock.

On either side were mountains, but below them stretched a huge plain that extended to the horizon and fused into the sky. The plain was a uniform tan, like the color of dead grass. Long, wispy clouds swept overhead, shaped by fierce winds. She understood now why Brom had insisted on horses. It would have taken them weeks or _months_ to cover the distance on foot. Far above she saw Saphira circling, high enough to be mistaken for a bird.

"We'll wait until tomorrow to make the descent," Brom explained. "It's going to take us most of the day, so we should camp now."

"How far across is the plain?" Evangeline asked, still looking amazed and utterly startled by how endless everything looked.

"Two or three days to over a fortnight, depending on which direction we go," Brom explained, shooting her an amused look. "Aside from the nomad tribes that roam this section of the plains, it's almost as uninhabited as the Hadarac Desert to the east; we aren't going to find many villages. However, to the south, the plains are less arid and more heavily populated."

They left the trail and dismounted by the Anora River. As they unsaddled the horses, Brom gestured at the bay.

"You should name him, you know," the man told her; Evangeline considered it as she picketed the bay.

"Well, I don't have anything as noble as Snowfire, but maybe this will do," the girl murmured, placing a gentle hand on the animal's side. "I'll name you Cadoc... it was my grandfather's name, so bear it well. He was a proud man, after all."

Brom nodded in approval, but Evangeline felt slightly foolish.

When Saphira landed, she looked at her in surprise.

_How do the plains look? _Eve inquired.

_Dull, _the dragon uttered, looking thoroughly bored. _There's nothing but rabbits and scrub in every direction._

After dinner, Brom stood and barked, "Catch!"

Evangeline barely had time to raise her arm and grab the piece of wood before it hit her on the head; she groaned as she saw another makeshift sword.

"Not again," she whined, looking up with unhappy amber eyes. Brom just smiled and beckoned with one hand; Evangeline reluctantly got to her feet.

They whirled around in a flurry of smacking wood, and she backed away with a stinging arm.

The training session was shorter than the first, yet it was still long enough for Evangeline to amass a new collection of bruises. When the two of them finished sparring, she dropped her stick in disgust and stalked away from the fire to nurse her injuries.


	11. Chapter 10: Thunder and Lightning

**Chapter Ten: Thunder Roar and Lightning Crackle**

The next morning, Evangeline avoided bringing to mind any of the recent events; they were too painful for her to consider, and she didn't like the thought of her family being torn apart because of her actions. Instead, the slender girl focused her energies on figuring out new ways to live under the guise of a boy named Eragon. She was trying to figure out how to conceal her gender for a large of amount of time, aside from the behavior and the name: it was no secret that she had different workings in her body, such as _that_ time of the month and the way her face actually looked in comparison to a male around her age.

She might have been able to pass off as being younger than she really was, but that in itself produced its own dilemma.

The only thing she had going for her at the moment was her flat chest, her new name, and her neutral demeanor when it came to acting feminine. As for the name... it wasn't as though it held any special meaning to her: it was simply the first thing that had popped into her head, and on the plus side, it was extremely easy for her to remember because of how similar it was to her own name. Living as a pretty-boy named Eragon was much better than living as a broken girl named Evangeline.

The _other_ big thing she was trying to figure out was how she was going to find and kill the Ra'zac: the pretty cross-dresser was attempting to decide the most satisfactory way to get revenge on Garrow's murderers.

_I'll do it with my bow,_ she decided, imagining how the cloaked figures would look with arrows sticking out of them; she had difficulty even standing up. Her muscles cramped with the slightest movement, and one of her fingers was hot and swollen. When they were ready to leave, she mounted Cadoc.

"If this keeps up, you're going to batter me to pieces," she croaked out honestly, rubbing her swollen arms with a wince. "I'm not as tough as a real guy."

"I wouldn't push you so hard if I didn't think you were strong enough," the man explained. "On top of that, I need to be twice as hard on you: if you are, in fact, attempting to alter your identity in order to become a female in the disguise of a boy, you need to be as tough as a male your age _should_ be."

"For once, I wouldn't mind being thought less of," she muttered.

Cadoc pranced nervously as Saphira approached: the dragon eyed the horse with something close to disgust.

_There's nowhere to hide on the plains, so I'm not going to bother trying to stay out of sight,_ Saphira stated. _I'll just fly above you from now on._

She took off, and they began the deep descent: in many places the trail all but disappeared, leaving them to find their own way down. At times they had to dismount and lead the horses on foot, holding on to trees to keep from falling down the slope. The ground was scattered with loose rocks, which made the footing treacherous. The ordeal left them hot and irritable, despite the cold. They stopped to rest when they reached the bottom near midday. The Anora River veered to their left and flowed northward. A biting wind scoured the land, whipping them unmercifully: the soil was parched and dirt flew into their faces. It unnerved Evangeline how flat everything was; the plains were unbroken by hummocks or mounds. She had lived her entire life surrounded by mountains and hills so, without them, she felt exposed and vulnerable.

Like a mouse under an eagle's keen eye, it wasn't a pleasant feeling at all.

The trail split in three once it reached the plains. The first branch turned north, toward Ceunon, one of the greatest northern cities; the second one led straight across the plains; and the last went south. They examined all three for traces of the Ra'zac and eventually found their tracks, heading directly into the grasslands.

"It seems they've gone to Yazuac," Brom noted with a perplexed air.

"Where's that?" Evangeline asked, blinking at him curiously.

"Due east and four days away, if all goes well. It's a small village situated by the Ninor River," he stated, gesturing at the Anora River, which streamed away from them to the north. "Our only supply of water is here. We'll have to replenish our waterskins before attempting to cross the plains. There isn't another pool or stream between here and Yazuac."

A dark hope began to rise in Evangeline's heart: in a few days, maybe less than a week, she would use her arrows to avenge her beloved uncle's death.

_And then…_ she refused to think about what might happen afterward.

They filled the waterskins, watered the horses, and drank as much as they could from the river; Saphira joined them and took several gulps of water. Fortified, they turned eastward and started across the plains.

**TXXXXXT**

Evangeline decided that it would be the wind that drove her crazy first. Everything that was making the girl miserable—the chapped lips, the parched tongue, and the burning eyes—stemmed from it. The ceaseless gusting had followed them throughout the day; Evangeline had removed her hat to keep it from being blown away. Evening only the strengthened the wind instead of subduing it: since there was no shelter, they were forced to camp in the open. Evangeline found some scrub brush, a short tough plant that thrived in harsh conditions, and pulled it up; she made a careful pile and tried to light it, but the woody stems only smoked and gave off a pungent smell. She tried several more times with the same result; she tossed the tinderbox to Brom.

"I can't make it burn, especially with this wind," the girl explained when he stared at her. "Can you try to get it going? Otherwise dinner will be cold."

Brom knelt by the brush and looked at it critically; he rearranged a couple of branches, then struck the tinderbox, sending a cascade of sparks onto the plants. There was smoke, but nothing else. Brom scowled and tried again, but his luck was no better than Evangeline's.

_"Brisingr!"_ he swore angrily, striking the flint again; flames suddenly appeared, and he stepped back with a pleased expression. "There we go. It must have been smoldering inside."

They sparred with mock swords while the food cooked. Fatigue made it hard on both of them, so they kept the session short.

After they had eaten, they lay next to Saphira and slept, grateful for her shelter.

The same cold wind greeted them in the morning, sweeping over the dreadful flatness. Evangeline's lips had cracked during the night; every time she smiled or talked, beads of blood covered them; licking them only made it worse. It was the same for Brom. They let the horses drink sparingly from their supply of water before mounting them. The day was a monotonous trek of endless plodding.

On the third day, Evangeline woke well rested. That, coupled with the fact that the wind had stopped, put her in a good mood. Her high spirits were dampened, however, when she saw the sky ahead of them was dark with thunderheads. Brom looked at the clouds and grimaced.

"Normally I wouldn't go into a storm like that," he noted, "but we're in for a battering no matter what we do, so we might as well get some distance covered."

It was still calm when the reached the storm front, but as the entered its shadow, Evangeline looked up and her large eyes widened: the thundercloud had an exotic structure, forming a natural cathedral with a massive arched roof. Using her imagination she could see pillars, windows, soaring tiers, and snarling gargoyles. It was a wild beauty that had her feeling utterly captivated and amazed. As Evangeline lowered her gaze, she saw a giant ripple racing toward them through the grass, flattening in: it took her a second to realize that the wave was a monstrous blast of wind.

Brom saw it as well and hunched his shoulders, preparing for the storm.

The gale was nearly upon them when Evangeline had a thought that horrified her: she twisted in her saddle, screaming with her voice and mind.

"Saphira! Land!" the girl shrieked, eyes horrified; Brom's face went white and overhead, they saw her dive toward the ground.

_She's not going to make it! _the girl realized, heart leaping into her throat. Saphira angled back the way they had come to gain time, but even as they watched, the tempest's wrath struck them like a hammer blow. Evangeline clutched the saddle to keep from being torn off of Cadoc's back as a frenzied howling filled her ears and whipped her shoulder-length hair around her face. Her horse swayed and dug his hooves into the ground, mane snapping in the air as she fought to stay on him: the wind tore at her hair and clothes with invisible fingers while the air darkened with billowing clouds of dust. Evangeline squinted through the debris, angrily holding her shortened hair back as she searched for Saphira: the girl saw her land heavily and crouch, clenching the ground with her talons.

The wind reached her just as she started to fold her wings: with an angry yank, it unfurled them and dragged the dragon into the air.

For a moment, she simply hung there, suspended by the storm's force; then it flipped her and slammed the dragon down on her back.

With a desperate jerk, Evangeline wrenched Cadoc around and galloped back up the trail, goading the horse with both heels and mind.

_Saphira!_ She cried. _Try to stay on the ground! I'm coming!_

Evangeline felt a grim acknowledgement from her. As they neared Saphira, Cadoc balked, so Evangeline leapt down and ran toward her: her bow banged against her head as she sprinted toward the dragon. However, a strong gust suddenly lifted the poor girl off her feet and she flew into the air with a hysterical shriek: she flipped nearly three times in a row thanks to the roaring air currents before the wind shifted again and she was slammed head-first into the ground. Eve landed on her stomach and wheezed when she nearly had the wind knocked out of her, but unfortunately enough for _her,_ the painful descent wasn't finished: her skinny legs were blown upward because of the angle of her body when she'd landed. The girl skidded nearly three yards across the ground in a painful-looking arched position before she was flipped back into the air with a painful jolt that cracked her back; Evangeline flailed her arms and squealed a little, but then she somehow landed back on her feet and skidded forward because of the wind.

The moment she was back on the ground, she frantically made her way forward, ignoring the deep gouges in her skin.

Saphira was only four yards away, but Evangeline couldn't get any closer to her because of her flailing wings: the dragon was struggling to fold them against the overpowering gale, and the brunette was simply struggling not to get blown away in general. Evangeline finally jumped and flew toward the dragon's right wing, using the wind as a propeller: she had been intending to hold it down, but the wind caught Saphira and she somersaulted over the airborne girl's head; the spines on her back missed Evangeline's neck by inches, and Saphira clawed at the ground when she landed again.

When her wings suddenly began to lift a second time, Evangeline threw herself at the left one but before the gale could flip her: the appendage crumpled in at the joints and Saphira tucked it firmly against her body. Evangeline lightly vaulted over her back and tumbled onto the other wing; it was blown upward without warning, sending the tiny girl sliding to the ground and rolling a few yards away thanks to the power of the storm. The brunette broke her fall with a roll, then jumped up and grabbed the wing again: Saphira started to fold it and Evangeline pushed with all of her strength; the wind battled with them for a second, but with one last surge they overcame it.

Eve leaned against Saphira, both females panting and trembling with fright.

_Are you all right?_ she asked, struggling to make her way over to her dragon's head. _You aren't hurt, are you? _

Saphira took a moment to answer.

_I… I think so,_ the dragon replied, sounding shaken. _Nothing's broken—I couldn't do anything; the wind wouldn't let me go. I was helpless._

With a shudder, she fell silent.

Evangeline looked at her, feeling concerned.

_Don't worry, you're safe now,_ the brunette soothed gently; she spotted Cadoc a ways off, standing with his back to the wind, so the girl instructed the horse to return to Brom with her mind. She then got on to Saphira, keeping her head down and holding her hair in place so the satin-like strands wouldn't blind her by accident: hair like hers was a painful thing to have when it was whipping her in the face... there was no other way to put it: painful.

The dragon crept up the road, fighting the gale while her young Rider clung to her back.

When they reached Brom, the man waved his hands

"Is she hurt?" he shouted over the storml Evangeline shook her head and dismounted. Cadoc trotted over to her, nickering, but just as she stroked the horse's long cheek in a soothing tone, Brom pointed at a dark curtain of rain sweeping toward them in rippling gray sheets.

"What next?" Evangeline murmured, pulling her clothes tighter: she winced as the torrent reached them. The stinging rain was colder than ice, and before long they were drenched and shivering. Lightning soon lanced through the sky, flashing in and out of existence: mile-high blue bolts streaked across the horizon, followed by deafening peals of thunder that shook the ground below. It was beautiful, yet dangerously so, and the display had Brom on edge.

Here and there, grass fires were ignited by strikes only to be extinguished by the rain.

The wild elements were slow to abate, but as the day passed, they wandered elsewhere: once again the sky was revealed, and the setting sun glowed with brilliance. As beams of light tinted the clouds with blazing colors, everything gained a sharp contrast: brightly lit on one side, deeply shadowed on the other. Objects had a unique sense of mass; grass stalks seemed as sturdy as marble pillars, and ordinary things took on an unearthly beauty.

Evangeline felt as if she were sitting inside a painting.

The rejuvenated earth smelled fresh, clearing their minds and raising their spirits. Saphira stretched, craning her neck, and roared happily. The horses skittered away from her, but Evangeline and Brom smiled at her exuberance. Before the light faded, they stopped for the night in a shallow depression.

Too exhausted to spar, they went straight to sleep.


	12. Chapter 11: Revelation at Yazuac

**Chapter Eleven: Revelation at Yazuac**

Although they had managed to partially refill their waterskins during the storm, they drank the last of their water that morning.

"I hope we're going in the right direction," Evangeline murmured, crunching up the empty water bag, "because we'll be in trouble if we don't reach Yazuac today."

"I've traveled this way before," Brom soothed, not looking disturbed in the slightest. "Yazuac will be in sight before dusk."

"Perhaps you see something that I don't," Evangeline stated, looking at him doubtfully. "How can you know that when everything looks exactly the same for leagues around?"

"Because I am guided not by the land, but by the stars and sun," the man explained, chuckling when her big eyes widened in surprise. "They will not lead us astray, so come! Let us be off. It is foolish to conjure up problems where none exist. Yazuac will be there."

His words proved true: Saphira spotted the village first, but it wasn't until later in the day that the rest of them saw it as a dark bump on the horizon. Yazuac was still very far away; it was only visible because of the plain's uniform flatness. As they rode closer, a dark winding line appeared on either side of the town and disappeared into the distance.

"The Ninor River," Brom said, pointing at it when Evangeline pulled Cadoc to a stop.

"Saphira will be seen if she stays with us much longer," the girl commented, looking at the circling dragon. "Should she hide while we go into Yazuac?"

"See that bend in the river?" Brom asked, scratching his chin as he looked at the town. "Have her wait there. It's far enough away from Yazuac that no one would find her, but close enough to ensure that she won't be left behind. We'll go through the town, get what we need, and then meet her."

_I don't like it,_ Saphira muttered when Evangeline had explained the plan. _This is irritating, having to hide like a criminal all the time._

_I don't like it either, but you know what would happen if we were revealed,_ Evangeline replied.

Saphira grumbled, but she gave in and flew low to the ground: they kept a swift pace in anticipation of the food and water they would soon enjoy. As they approached the small houses, they could see smoke from a dozen chimneys, but there was no one in the streets. An abnormal silence enveloped the village, and by unspoken consent the two of them stopped before the first house.

"There aren't any dogs barking…" Evangeline abruptly noted, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

"No," the man agreed, looking around with wary eyes.

"Doesn't mean anything, though… right?" Evangeline inquired, expression filling with worry.

"No..." the man repeated, watching the brunette when she paused and uneasily looked around.

"Someone should have seen us by now," the girl commented, shivering slightly.

"Yes," Brom stated simply.

"Then why hasn't anyone come out?" Eve asked, feeling as though she wanted to pull her hair out because of his indifference.

"Well," Brom sighed, squinting at the sun, "they could be afraid."

"Could be," Evangeline agreed, then became quiet for a moment. "What if it's a trap, though? The Ra'zac might be waiting for us."

"We need provisions and water," the man explained.

"There's the Ninor," Evangeline protested, looking at the empty street with a shiver.

"Still need provisions," Brom retorted.

"True," Evangeline whispered, looking around again with uneasy amber eyes. "So, we go in?"

"Yes, but not like fools," Brom sighed, flicking his reins. "This is the main entrance to Yazuac: if there's an ambush, it'll be along here. No one will expect us to arrive from a different direction."

"Around to the side then?" Evangeline asked; Brom nodded and pulled out his sword, resting the bare blade across his saddle. Evangeline blinked at his actions before she strung her bow and notched an arrow, feeling extremely uneasy for reasons unknown to her. They trotted quietly around the town and entered it cautiously. The streets were empty, except for a small fox that darted away as they came near. The houses were dark and foreboding, with shattered windows. Many of the doors swung on broken hinges. The horses rolled their eyes nervously. The center of the mark starting on Evangeline's palm began to tingle. The feeling followed the spiral around her hand, up her arm, and around her torso, following the path of the silvery dragon mark. The moment they rode into the center of town, however, she gripped her bow tighter and her large eyes wide in sheer and utter horror.

"Gods above," she whispered, covering her mouth with both hands as what she was seeing burned itself deep into her memory.

A mountain of bodies rose above them, the corpses stiff and grimacing.

Their clothes were soaked in blood, and the churned ground was stained with it. Slaughtered men lay over the women they had tried to protect, mothers still clasped their children, and young lovers who had tried to shield each other rested in death's cold embrace. Black arrows stuck out of them all; neither young nor old had been spared. But worst of all was the barbed spear that rose out of the peak of the pile, impaling the white body of a baby. Evangeline let out a choking noise and sobbed as tears blurred her vision: she tried to look away, but the dead faces held her attention. She gazed at their open eyes and grimly wondered how life could have left them so easily.

_What does our existence mean when it can end like this? _she whispered silently, hands shaking as a wave of sorrow overwhelmed her,

A crow dipped out of the sky, like a black shadow, and perched on the spear. It cocked its head and greedily scrutinized the infant's corpse.

"No way!" Evangeline hissed through her tears, pulling back the bowstring and releasing it with a twang; with a puff of feathers, the crow fell over backward, the arrow protruding from its chest. Evangeline fit another arrow to the string, but the nausea unexpectedly rose up from her stomach and she threw up over Cadoc's side. Brom patted her gently on the back, but when she was finished, he looked at her gently.

"Do you want to wait for me outside Yazuac?" he inquired softly.

"No… I'll stay," Evangeline whispered shakily, wiping her mouth as she avoided looking at the gruesome sight. "Who could have done…?"

She couldn't force out the words.

"Those who love the pain and suffering of others," Brom murmured, bowing his head. "They wear many faces and go by many disguises, but there is only one name for them: evil. There is no understanding it. All we can do is pray for and honor the victims."

"I... I feel sick," the girl whispered. "Not in my stomach, but in my chest... like my heart is being squeezed."

"Feeling like that is only to be expected after witnessing such horror," Brom slowly explained, dismounting Snowfire before he walked around and carefully inspected the trampled ground. "The Ra'zac passed this way, but this wasn't their doing. This is Urgal work; the spear is of their make. A company of them came through here, perhaps as many as a hundred. It's odd; I know of only a few instances when they have gathered in such…"

He trailed off and examined a footprint intently; with a curse he ran back to Snowfire and leapt onto him.

"Brom?!" she squeaked, stiffening in alarm when he shot her a frantic glare.

"Ride!" he hissed tightly, spurring Snowfire forward. "There are still Urgals here!"

Evangeline's big brown eyes immediately widened and she jammed her heels into Cadoc, bending over as the horse jumped forward and raced after Snowfire: they dashed past the houses and were almost to the edge of Yazuac when the tingling sensation ran up from the center of Evangeline's mark again, prickling her entire body. She saw a flicker of movement to her right, then a giant fist smashed her out of the saddle. The girl let out a shriek of pain as she flew off Cadoc, but then she crashed into a wall and had the scream knocked right out of her lungs. She held onto her bow only by sheer instinct, so it was still in her hands when she slid to the ground; wheezing and stunned, she staggered upright, hugging her bruised chest with both arms.

An Urgal stood over her, face set in a ferocious leer: the monster was tall, thick, and broader than a doorway, with gray skin and yellow eyes. Muscles bulged on his arms and chest, which was covered by a breast plate much too small. An iron cap rested over the pair of ram's horns curling from his temples, and a roundshield was bound to one arm. His powerful hand held a short, wicked sword.

Behind him, Evangeline saw Brom rein in Snowfire and start back, only to be stopped by the appearance of a second Urgal, this one with an ax. "Run, you idiot girl!" Brom shouted at Evangeline, cleaving at his enemy. The Urgal in front of Evangeline roared and swung his sword mightily. Evangeline jerked back with a startled cry as the weapon whistled past her cheek. She whirled around and fled toward the center of Yazuac, heart pounding wildly.

The hat that Brom had given her fell to the ground.

The Urgal pursued her, heavy boots thudding: Evangeline sent a desperate cry for help to Saphira and forced herself to go even faster. The Urgal rapidly gained ground despite the girl's efforts; his large fangs were separated in a soundless bellow. With the Urgal almost upon her, Evangeline strung an arrow, spun to a stop, took aim, and released. The Urgal snapped up his arm and caught the quivering bolt on his shield. The monster crashed into Evangeline before she could shoot again and they fell to the ground in a confused tangle. Eve frantically crawled to her feet and darted back towards Brom, who was trading fierce blows with his opponent from Snowfire's back.

_Where are the rest of the Urgals?!_ Evangeline wondered frantically. _Are these two the only ones in Yazuac?!_

There was a loud smack, and Snowfire reared, whinnying as Brom doubled over in his saddle with blood gushing down his arm. When the Urgal beside him howled in triumph and raised his ax for the death blow, a deafening scream tore from Evangeline's lips and she charged the Urgal headfirst. The monster paused in astonishment, then faced her contemptuously before swinging his ax. The tiny brunette ducked under the two-handed blow and clawed the Urgal's side with her sharp nails, leaving bloody furrows. The Urgal's face twisted with rage and he slashed again, but missed by a mere inch as Evangeline dived to the side and scrambled down an alley: a few strands of her shining hair fell to the ground, severed by the weapon's deadly blade.

She concentrated on leading the Urgals away from Brom and slipped into a narrow passageway between two houses: when she saw it was a dead end, the girl slid to a stop and tried to back out, but the Urgals had already blocked the entrance. They advanced, cursing her in their gravelly voices: Evangeline's amber eyes flashed from side to side, searching for a way out, but there was no way for her to escape. Her irises slowly rippled before shifting in hue to a bright green, signalling that she was absolutely terrified: green was the color of her fear.

As she faced the Urgals, images flashed into her mind: dead villagers piled around the spear and an innocent baby who would never grow to adulthood. At the thought of their fate, a burning, fiery power gathered from every part of her body. It was more than a desire for justice; it was her entire being rebelling against the fact of death—that she would cease to exist. The power grew stronger with extreme rapidity, until she felt ready to explode from the contained force. She stood tall and straight, back arching gracefully as the terror left her: she raised her bow smoothly. The Urgal's laughed and lifted their shields when Evangeline sighted down the shaft as she had done hundreds of times before, aligning the arrowhead with her target. The energy inside her burned at an unbearable level: she had to release it or she felt it would destroy her. A word suddenly leapt, unbidden, to her lips.

_"Brisingr!"_ she shrieked, releasing the bowstring: blinding white light radiated up the spiral of her mark and disappeared into her sleeve as the arrow hissed through the air, glowing with crackling white flames. It struck the lead Urgal on the forehead, and the air resounded with an explosion. A silver shockwave basted out of the monster's head, killing the other Urgal instantly: it reached Evangeline before she had time to react, but it passed through the girl's body without harm before dissipating against the houses. Evangeline stood panting in the alleyway for a full minute before she looked at her icy hand: the _gedwëy ignasia_ was glowing like white hot metal, yet even as she watched it faded back to normal. She clenched her fist, but suddenly a wave of exhaustion washed over her: she felt strangely weak and feeble, as if she hadn't eaten for days.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed against a wall before sliding to the ground.

Once a modicum of strength had returned to her, Evangeline struggled to her feet and weakly made her way out of the alley.

She didn't get very far before Cadoc trotted to her side.

"Good, you weren't hurt," the brunette mumbled; she noticed, without particularly caring, that her hands were shaking violently and her movements were jerky. She felt detached, as if everything she saw was happening to someone else. Evangeline found Snowfire, nostrils flared and ears flat against his head, prancing by the corner of a house and looking ready to bolt; Brom was still slumped motionless in the saddle, which had her feeling worried.

Evangeline reached out with her mind and soothed the horse, but once Snowfire had relaxed, the girl went to Brom.

There was a long, blood-soaked cut on the old man's right arm: the wound was bleeding profusely, but it was neither deep nor wide. Still, Evangeline knew it had to be bound before Brom lost too much blood; she stroked Snowfire for a moment, then slid Brom out of the saddle... but the man's weight proved to be way too much for her to handle and he dropped heavily to the ground. Evangeline was shocked by her own weakness.

A scream of rage filled her head around that moment: Saphira dived out of the sky and landed fiercely in front of her, keeping her wings half raised. She hissed angrily, eyes burning. Her tail lashed, and Evangeline winced as it snapped overhead.

_Are you hurt?_ she asked, rage seething in her voice.

"No," the girl assured her as she laid Brom on his back.

_Good!_ Saphira growled, then exclaimed, _Where are the ones who did this? I will rip them apart!_

"It won't do you any good," Evangeline chuckled weakly before she pointed in the direction of the alley. "They're already dead."

_You killed them?_ Saphira asked, sounding thoroughly surprised.

"Somehow, yes," the girl confirmed, and with a few terse words, Evangeline told her what had happened while she searched her saddlebags for the rags in which Zar'roc had been wrapped.

_You have grown, _Saphira said gravely; Evangeline didn't reply. She found a long rag and carefully rolled back Brom's sleeve: with a few deft strokes she cleaned the cut and bandaged it tightly.

_I wish we were still in Palancar Valley,_ she said wearily to Saphira as she retrieved Brom's sword from the ground, wiped it, then returned it to the sheath on the old man's belt. _There, at least, I knew what plants were good for healing. Here, I don't have any idea what will help him._

_We should leave,_ Saphira said, looking at the slender brunette. _There may be more Urgals lurking about._

_Can you carry Brom?_ Eve asked, looking up at her with tired amber eyes. _Your saddle will hold him in place, and you can protect him._

_Yes, but I'm not leaving you alone._

_Fine, fly next to me, but let's get out of here, _the girl sighed, tying the saddle onto Saphira; then she wrapped her arms around Brom and tried to lift him, but again her diminished strength failed her. _Saphira—help._

The dragon snaked her head past the girl and caught the back of Brom's robe between her teeth; arching her neck, she lifted the old man off the ground like a cat would a kitten and deposited him onto her back. Then Evangeline slipped Brom's legs through the saddle's straps and tightened them. She looked up when the old man groaned and shifted: Brom blinked blearily, putting a hand to his head before he gazed down at Evangeline with concern.

"Did Saphira get here in time?" he inquired, blinking when Evangeline shook her head.

"I'll explain everything later," she weakly croaked out. "Your arm is injured; I bandaged it as best I could, but you need a safe place to rest."

"Yes," Brom said, gingerly touching his arm. "Do you know where my sword…. ah, I see you found it."

"Rest easy," Evangeline whispered as she finished tightening the straps. "Saphira's going to take you and follow me by air."

"Are you sure you want me to ride her?" Brom asked in surprise. "I can ride Snowfire."

"Not with that arm," the girl retorted. "This way, even if you faint, you won't fall off."

"I'm honored," Brom mumbled with a nod, wrapping his good arm around Saphira's neck; the dragon took off in a flurry, springing high into the air. Evangeline backed away, buffeted by eddies from her wings, and returned to the horses. She tied Snowfire behind Cadoc, and then left Yazuac, returning to the trail and following it southward. It led through a rocky area, veered left, and continued along the bank of the Ninor River. Ferns, mosses, and small bushes dotted the side of the path. It was refreshingly cool underneath the trees, but Evangeline didn't let the soothing air lull her into a sense of security. She stopped briefly to fill the waterskins and let the horses drink, but after glancing down she saw the Ra'zac's tracks.

_At least we're going in the right direction, _the girl thought silently; Saphira circled overhead, keeping a keen eye on her.

It disturbed Evangeline greatly that they had seen only two Urgals. The villagers had been killed and Yazuac ransacked by a large horde, yet where was it?

Perhaps the ones were a rear guard or a trap left for anyone who was following the main force.

Her thoughts turned to how she had killed the Urgals and an idea, a _revelation,_ slowly worked its way through her mind.

She, Evangeline Alexandria—a simple farm girl from Palancar Valley—had somehow used magic. _Magic!_ It was the only word for what had happened, and even though it seemed impossible, she could not deny what she had seen.

_Somehow I've become a sorceress or a witch! _she silently exclaimed, tossing her hair out of her eyes before she shook her head in wonder and bewilderment; still, she didn't know how to use this new power again or even what its limits and dangers might be. _How can I have this ability? Was it common among the Riders? And if Brom knew of it, why didn't he tell me?_

She conversed with Saphira to check on Brom's condition and to share her thoughts.

However, the dragon was just as puzzled as Evangeline about the idea of the girl using magic.

_Saphira, can you find us a safe place to stay?_ she asked._ I can't see very far down here._

While she searched, Evangeline continued along the Ninor.

The summons reached her just as the light was fading.

_Come,_ Saphira commanded, sending her an image of a secluded clearing in the trees by the river. Evangeline immediately turned the horses in the new direction and nudged them into a trot: with Saphira's help it was easy to find, but it was so well hidden that she doubted anyone else would notice it. A small, smokeless fire was already burning when she entered the clearing and Brom sat next to it, tending his arm, which he held at an awkward angle; Saphira was crouched beside him, her entire body tense: she looked intently at Evangeline when the girl arrived with the horses.

_Are you sure you aren't hurt?_ she asked.

_Not on the outside, at least… _the brunette mumbled, looking at her with eyes that shone blue: the color of sadness._ I'm not sure about the rest of me._

_I should have been there sooner, _Saphira stated regretfully. _I am sorry that I was not fast enough._

_Hey, now, don't feel bad,_ the girl chuckled weakly, large eyes shifting to a soft hazel color as her emotions changed for the better. _We all made mistakes today, Saphira... mine was not staying closer to you._

Saphira's gratitude for that remark washed over her.

"Brom," Evangeline croaked hoarsely, looking at the man with tired eyes. "How are you doing?"

"It's a large scratch and hurts terribly, but it should heal quickly enough. I need a fresh bandage; this one didn't last as long as I'd hoped," the old man explained, glancing at his arm; they boiled water to wash Brom's wound, then the man tied a fresh rag to his arm. "I must eat, and you look hungry as well, so let's have dinner before we talk tonight."

When their bellies were full and warm, Brom lit his pipe.

"Now, I think it's time for you to tell me what transpired while I was unconscious. I am most curious," the man explained; his face reflected the flickering firelight, and his bushy eyebrows stuck out fiercely. Evangeline nervously ran a hand through her shoulder-length auburn hair and told the story without embellishment: Brom remained silent throughout it, his face inscrutable, but when Evangeline finished speaking he looked down at the ground.

For a long time the only sound was the snapping fire, but then the man finally stirred.

"Have you used this power before?" he demanded in a low voice.

"No," she tiredly replied. "Do you know anything about it?"

"A little," Brom murmured, face becomingthoughtful. "It seems I owe you a debt for saving my life. I hope I can return the favor someday. You should be proud; few men escape unscathed from slaying their first Urgal, and no women have ever gotten away from their brutal lusts. However, the manner in which you did it was very dangerous: you could have killed yourself and destroyed the whole town."

"It wasn't as if I'd had a choice," Evangeline said defensively. "The Urgals were almost on me! If I had waited, they would have chopped me into pieces!"

"Eva... _Eragon,"_ Brom corrected himself, stamping his teeth vigorously on the pipe stem. "You didn't have any idea what you were doing."

"Tell me, then!" Evangeline challenged, amber eyes flashing to a pale shade of brown that border-lined on being gold. "I've been searching for answers to this mystery ever since it happened, but I can't make any sense of it! What happened to me? How could I have possibly used magic? No one has ever instructed me in it or taught me spells!"

"This isn't something you should be taught—much less _use!"_ Brom snapped, eyes flashing in a similar manner and taking on a similar golden-brown hue.

"Well, I _have_ used it! And I may need it to fight again, but I won't be able to if you don't help me!" the girl shrieked, shaking her head. "What's wrong? Is there some secret that I'm not supposed to learn until I'm old and wise? Or maybe you don't know anything about magic!"

"Girl, you need to stop!" Brom angrily roared. "You demand answers with an insolence rarely seen! If you knew what you asked for, you would not be so quick to inquire, so do not try me!"

_"You're_ the one who's trying _me!"_ Evangeline screeched, hotly rising to her feet and glaring as tears stung her eyes. "Ever since Garrow died, I've felt as though I've been thrust into a world with strange rules that nobody will explain! I've seen horrible things and my world was virtually turned upside down within the span of a _fortnight,_ so I think I have a _right_ to demand some answers every now and then! I'm the only one who _doesn't_ know anything!"

Brom stopped when he realized he couldn't deny her claim, then relaxed into a kinder countenance.

"The knowledge you ask for is more complex than you understand," he muttered, fiddling with a piece of grass, "but I understand. It's late and we should sleep now, but I _will_ tell you a few things to stop your badgering. This magic—for it is magic—has rules like the rest of the world. If you break these rules, the penalty is death, without exception. Your deeds are limited by your strength, the words you know, and your imagination."

"What do you mean by words?" Evangeline asked in a small voice, wiping her eyes.

"More questions!" Brom grumbled. "For a moment I had hoped you were empty of them; but you are quite right in asking. When you shot the Urgals, didn't you say something?"

"Yes… I said _brisingr,"_ the girl mumbled; she jumped when the fire flared up with a roar, and a shiver ran through her body.

Something about the word made her feel incredibly alive.

"I thought so..." Brom muttered, face pulling into a fierce frown. "Brisingr is from an ancient language that all living things used to speak. However, it was forgotten over time and went unspoken for eons in Alagaësia, until the elves brought it back over the sea. They taught it to the other races, who used the knowledge for making and doing powerful things. The language has a name for everything in existence, if you can find it."

"But what does that have to do with magic?" Evangeline asked, feeling thoroughly confused.

"Everything! It is the basis for all power," Brom snorted in amusement. "The language describes the true nature of things, not the superficial aspect that everyone sees. For example, fire is called brisingr. Not only is that a name for fire, it is the name for fire. If you are strong enough, you can use brisingr to direct fire to do whatever you will. That is what happened today."

Evangeline thought about it for a moment.

"Why was the fire _white?"_ she asked, feeling amazed. "And why did it do exactly what I wanted, if all I said was fire?"

"The color varies from person to person: it depends on who says the word, and how pure their heart is," Brom explained, eyebrows shooting up in surprise when she told him what the color had been. "As to why the fire did what you wanted, that's a matter of practice: most beginners have to spell out exactly what they want to happen, but as they gain more experience, it isn't as necessary. A true master could say water and create something unrelated like a gemstone: you wouldn't be able to understand how he'd done it, but the master would have seen the connection between water and the gem, and would have used that as the focal point for his power. The practice is more of an art than anything else. What you did was extremely difficult."

Saphira interrupted Evangeline's thoughts.

_Brom is a magician! That's how he was able to light the fire on the plains, _she exclaimed. _He doesn't just know about magic; he can use it himself!_

_Eh?!_ Evangeline's eyes widened. _You're right!_

_Ask him about this power, but be careful of what you say. It is unwise to trifle with those who have such abilities, _the dragon stated. _If he is a wizard or sorcerer, who knows what his motives might have been for settling in Carvahall?_

"Saphira and I just realized something," Evangeline said carefully, keeping the dragon's words in mind. "You can use this magic, can't you? That's how you started the fire on our first day on the plains."

"Yes," Brom confirmed, inclining his head slightly. "I am proficient to some degree."

"Then why didn't you fight the Urgals with it?" she asked, cocking her head to the side in confusion. "In fact, I can think of many times when it might have been useful—you could have shielded us from the storm and kept the dirt out of our eyes."

"Some simple reasons, really," Brom sighed after refilling his pipe. "I am not a Rider, which means that even at your weakest moment, you are stronger than I am. On to of that, I have also outlived my youth; I'm not as strong as I used to be. Every time I reach for magic, it gets a little harder."

"Oh," Evangeline murmured, dropping her eyes with an abashed expression. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Brom chuckled as he shifted his arm. "It happens to everyone."

"Where did you learn to use magic?" the girl asked, returning her gaze to his face.

"That is one fact I'll keep to myself… suffice it to say, it was in a very remote area and from a very good teacher. I can, at the very least, pass on his lessons." Brom retorted, snuffing his pipe with a small rock before he leaned forward with his eyes gleaming. "I know that you have more questions, and I will answer them; but they must wait until morning. Until then, I will say this to discourage any experiments: magic takes just as much energy as if you'd used your arms and back. That's why you feel so tired, and that is why I was angry: it was a dreadful risk on your part. If you had used more energy than was in your body, it would have killed you. You should use magic only for tasks that can't be accomplished the mundane way."

"How do you know if a spell will use all your energy?" Evangeline asked, looking utterly frightened by his words: her eyes flared to a bright lime green.

"Most of the time you don't," Brom grunted, raising his hands with an exasperated sigh. "That's why magicians have to know their limits well, an even then they are cautious. Once you commit to a task and release the magic, you can't pull it back, even if it's going to kill you. I mean this as a warning: don't try anything until you've learned more. Now, enough of this for tonight,"

_We are becoming more powerful, Evangeline; both of us, _Saphira commented with satisfaction as they spread out their blankets. _Soon, nobody will be able to stand in our way._

_Yes,_ the tiny girl murmured thoughtfully, blinking at her in a naive manner, _but which way shall we choose?_

_Whichever one we want,_ the dragon smugly replied, letting out a cough-like dragon-chuckle before settling down for the night.


End file.
